cherikwine - Tumblr blog

cherikwine · 4 years ago

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No pressure if this doesn't spark interest but here's one for you! Charles and Erik have been on-again, off-again for years, driving their mutual friends crazy with their drama and they're all getting fed up. They come up with a plan to get these two back together by setting each of them up with someone who is 100% suited to them, in the hopes that they realize that even when they have 'perfection' it's not what they really want, and what they really want is to be together (of course) :D

Steve is tall, muscular, and incredibly handsome with one of the kindest smiles Charles has ever seen. He has a quiet, wry sense of humor, sparkling blue eyes, and arms that look like they could lift Charles without breaking a sweat. Better than that, he’s a history professor at NYU, and after ten minutes of listening to him describe his students with obvious fondness, Charles decides that Steve is exactly his type. Steve has potential.

“What about you?” Steve asks, picking up his water glass. “Tony mentioned you’re also a professor?”

Charles nods. “At Columbia. I teach biology, specializing in genetics.”

“Tony also mentioned you’re a mutant.”

“I am, yes.” Despite Tony’s assurances that Steve is as far from a mutantphobe as one can get, Charles still gets a nervous flutter in his belly as he says, “I’m a telepath. Did Tony tell you that?”

“He did, yes.”

Best to get the big question out of the way with, like ripping off a band-aid. “Does that bother you?”

Steve’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I’ve never dated a telepath before. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’m willing to learn. Just — ” His lips quirk charmingly. “ — be patient with me?”

Tony hadn’t been exaggerating, had he? Charles thinks, feeling very warm, and not because of the wine. Steve really is perfect.

“Did Tony write you a script?” Charles asks, smiling. “Or do you always know how to say exactly the right thing?”

Steve laughs and starts to say something in reply, but Charles doesn’t hear him. One of the servers is gliding toward them with two people in tow, clearly intending to seat them at the table beside Charles and Steve’s. Charles doesn’t recognize the woman — she’s slender, elegant, and beautiful, with soft brown eyes and dark curly hair. But the man walking beside her with his hand on the small of her back — Charles would know him anywhere.

“Charles,” Erik says in surprise when their eyes meet. He stops dead, shock and confusion flashing through his mind. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a date,” Charles says slowly, struggling to make sense of Erik’s sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

Erik’s eyes flick between Steve and Charles, his brows furrowing. Whatever conclusion he’s drawing, Charles doesn��t want to know. “I’m also on a date.”

That beautiful woman is his date. Charles darts a look over to her again, feeling his heart twist.

“Oh,” he says, forcing a smile. “That’s, er — that’s nice.”

“Do you guys know each other?” Steve asks, straightening in his seat.

“Erik and I are…” How to quantify their relationship? It’s complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Friends,” Erik finishes. “Since college.”

Steve smiles. “That’s nice.” He pauses a moment, then gestures to the table. “Do you want to join us? I don’t want to get in the way of your date, of course, but there’s extra room at our table if you want to sit with us.”

“That’s not necessary,” Charles starts to say, but at the same time, Erik’s date says brightly, “Oh that would be wonderful! A double date sounds fun!”

Erik looks like he’s just bitten down on a lemon. After a moment of hesitation, Charles slips into his mind and says, Sorry. Steve and I can leave in a bit if it gets awkward.

It’s fine, Erik replies coolly. His mind has felt chilly and unwelcoming ever since the last time they’d broken up three months ago. Charles winces and withdraws.

“Steve, this is Erik,” he says as the server helps Erik pull up a chair for his date, then another for himself. “Erik, this is Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve says, offering a hand politely.

After an obvious pause, Erik takes his hand, less politely. “Erik,” he says shortly. Gesturing to his date, he says, “This is Magda. Magda, this is Charles.”

“Charmed,” Charles says, shaking her hand. She has very soft hands, and she smells lovely. Whatever perfume she’s wearing is wonderful. “How did you two meet?”

“Our friends set us up,” Magda says, smoothing down her dress as she sits. “This is our first date actually.”

“What a coincidence!” Steve says. “We were also introduced by a mutual friend, and this is our first date, too.”

“Yes, what a coincidence,” Erik mutters, his eyes flickering around the table.

His tone makes Charles frown, a kernel of doubt entering his thoughts. Erik’s always been more suspicious of everything than Charles, but even Charles has to admit that this is perhaps a little too serendipitous. What would be the odds of the two of them both ending up at the same restaurant at the same time on separate dates arranged by their friends? They’ve been keeping their distance since their breakup, but their friend groups overlap so it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that their friends might have coordinated something. But why on earth would they do that? To what end?

“Erik was just telling me about this place on the way over,” Magda says, opening the menu. “He says the chicken marsala is to die for.”

Charles blinks. Chicken marsala is always his go-to, and the only reason Erik has any idea what it tastes like is because Charles used to playfully feed him forkfuls of it back when they were dating. Erik had always pretended not to like it, though he’d roll his eyes and sample it anyway, at Charles’s insistence. Erik’s always been partial to the cheesy broccoli rigatoni himself.

Erik coughs. “I said it was pretty good.”

“No, you definitely said it was one of the best things on the menu.” Magda glances over at Charles. “Have you guys been here before?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “First time. But Charles says it’s one of his favorite places.”

“Everything here is good,” Charles tells her, “so don’t worry about making a bad choice. I’d recommend the shrimp scampi if you like shrimp. It’s delicious.”

“Unfortunately I can’t,” Magda says with an apologetic smile. “I’m Jewish. No shellfish for me.”

She’s Jewish. Of course she is. She’s tall and gorgeous and she smells nice and she’s Jewish. It’s as if she was somehow plucked from a catalog to complement Erik perfectly.

Charles looks down at the menu until he can swallow down the hot, angry feeling that rises up in his throat, a feeling that he very much does not want to identify. Steve says something about possible kosher menu options and Erik points out what he normally gets, and thankfully, the conversation passes on from Charles so he has some time to compose himself.

Just play nice for an hour, he tells himself sternly. Finish dinner, ask Steve if he’d like to get out of here, and then say bye and leave. Easy as that.

“Charles was just telling me that he teaches biology at Columbia,” Steve says.

“Just the freshman classes so far,” Charles demurs. “I’ve only been teaching for a couple of years.”

“You went to college at Columbia, didn’t you?” Magda asks Erik. “I remember Kitty telling me that.”

So Kitty had been the one to set her and Erik up? Now it seems less likely that their friends might have manipulated them into this situation. After all, Kitty doesn’t really know Tony, does she? There’s several degrees of separation there, even if their friend groups blend together at the edges.

“I did,” Erik agrees. “Charles and I were roommates.”

“All four years,” Charles murmurs, trying not to dwell on those memories for too long. He and Erik had been on-again, off-again for as long as they’d known each other, but when he thinks back on those years now, bittersweet as they’d been, he remembers more sweet than bitter. That only makes it harder for him to smile at Magda, who’s being perfectly pleasant.

“It must be nice to be able to go back and teach there,” Steve remarks.

“Yeah,” Charles says. “I always wanted to teach there. Dreamed about it since I was a kid.”

“You dreamed about Oxford,” Erik says, almost accusing.

Charles shoots him a narrow look. “Yes, I did want to teach at Oxford once, but it’s half a world away from all my family and friends and Columbia’s much more convenient. So that’s where I ended up.”

“You grew up in New York?” Steve asks. When Charles nods, Steve smiles and says, “Me too. Brooklyn.”

“Oh, I’m from Brooklyn, too,” Magda says, grinning. “Still live there actually. Whereabouts in Brooklyn?”

Add yet another tally to “Reasons Why She’s Perfect for Erik,” Charles thinks sourly. She probably lives a stone’s throw away from Erik’s mother. They probably wouldn’t even need to take a train to visit. Erik’s mother will love that, having Erik’s girlfriend only minutes away from her. She never used to like making the trip into Manhattan to see Charles when he and Erik had lived together.

The server comes around to serve them drinks and take their orders, and Charles requests the fettucine carbonara instead of his usual because he’s feeling peevish. Erik raises an eyebrow at him, no doubt surprised because Charles has never ordered anything but the chicken marsala here for as long as Erik’s known him, and Charles only gives him a haughty look in return. What? You don’t think I can change things up? I’m moving on from you, Erik. I’m not staying that same boy you knew in college forever.

The more they talk, the more apparent it becomes that Magda was somehow crafted by the universe to be Erik’s ideal partner. She’s currently in law school with plans to become a public defender, specializing in mutant cases. She was on the swim team in college, like Erik, and she likes long hikes in the wilderness, like Erik. She even speaks conversational German, courtesy of her father’s side of the family. And she actually goes to the same synagogue that Erik’s mother attends, though they’ve never really interacted beyond brief friendly chats here and there. Still, Edie had apparently called her a “very nice girl” once and asked if she was single. If that’s not a sign that Edie would dearly love to shove Magda into Erik’s arms, Charles doesn’t know what is.

Erik likes her, too. Charles can tell by the way Erik reaches over to brush Magda’s hair back to keep it from dipping into her soup, and the way Erik continuously refills her water glass from the pitcher in the center of the table, and the way Erik smiles at her jokes. Fork clenched tight in his hand, Charles focuses hard on his plate to avoid watching them flirt. He hadn’t realized how agonizing it would be to watch Erik flirt with someone so perfectly suited to him.

“The food must be good,” Steve says eventually with a small laugh. “You haven’t said a word in a while.”

Charles swallows his mouthful of pasta and forces a smile. “Sorry. Famished.” He takes a gulp of his wine and eyes Steve’s plate, which is still half full. At this rate, he’s going to have to wait another half an hour at least before making his excuses and fleeing with Steve in tow.

“He’s always hungry,” Erik says without looking at Charles. “Word of advice: never split the tab with him.”

Steve laughs. “Oops. I offered to pay today.”

“Fatal mistake.”

“I only ordered one entrée,” Charles protests. “And an appetizer.”

“Just wait till dessert,” Erik says to Steve.

Both of them laugh, Steve with innocent amusement, Erik with a harder edge of mockery. Charles glowers at him, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him. Why is he picking a fight right now? They have company, for god’s sake.

Erik doesn’t even look at him. He reaches over to refill Magda’s water glass again, and when she smiles and thanks him, he smiles back with that soft, gentle smile that had once been exclusively reserved for Charles.

Gritting his teeth, Charles attacks the remainder of his food with voracious energy, determined to be done and out of this restaurant in fifteen minutes flat. They’re going to have to continue this date elsewhere because Charles can’t focus with Erik sitting five feet away from him, alternating between doting on Magda and shooting cool barbs across the table at Charles.

“Do you want a refill?” Steve asks, gesturing to Charles’s wineglass.

He’s already had two so far tonight, but Charles would much rather be fuzzy right now than clear. As he starts to hand over his glass, Erik sneers, “Careful. Charles doesn’t exactly know when to stop.”

His venom is no longer veiled, and everyone at the table must hear it because they all go still. For a moment, Charles can’t decide how to react, torn between competing impulses — he wants to sneer something equally cruel back at Erik, he wants to throw his glass in Erik’s face hard enough for it to shatter, he wants the earth to spontaneously open up and swallow him whole.

In the end, it’s his mother’s influence that wins out: If you can be nothing else, be dignified. She never did teach him much, but that? He learned that lesson quite well.

“Excuse me,” he says calmly, standing. “I’ll be right back.”

Ignoring Steve’s questioning look, he heads toward the back where the bathrooms are. There’s a narrow hallway that leads to two bathrooms on the left with the kitchen on the right. Without pausing, Charles walks straight to the back door and pushes it open.

A busboy is in the back alley tossing trash bags into the dumpsters. When he spots Charles, he says in confusion, “Hey, you’re not allowed — ” but Charles brushes his attention away without slowing his stride. Thankfully the alley’s not a dead end, so he can reach the street from here. He hits the main street, glances both ways, picks a direction, and starts walking.

All of a sudden, he realizes he’s shaking with fury. His heart is racing a hundred miles a second. He’s filled with such seething rage that he’s panting with it, each breath drawn in sharply through his clenched teeth.

How dare Erik say that. How dare Erik bring up Charles’s drinking when he knows that that’s a sore spot, when he knows Charles’s mother drank herself to death. And for what? To score some points in some nonsensical game he’s playing? To sabotage Charles’s date? Would he really be so petty and cruel?

You know exactly how petty and cruel Erik can be, Charles tells himself. This shouldn’t be a surprise.

He keeps walking, needing to burn off this explosive anger before he does something he regrets. But already his mind is returning to the restaurant, wondering how on earth he’s going to return there and act like everything’s normal. God, what is he going to say to Steve? How is he going to look Erik in the face again without wanting to throttle him?

By the time he finally feels calm enough to go back, it’s been nearly fifteen minutes. He walks slowly on the way back, dreading the idea of facing Steve and the others again. And only now that he’s no longer quite so angry does he realize how cold it is outside. Crossing his arms, he walks with his shoulders hunched, knowing he must look pitiful as he tries not to shiver.

He’s nearly back at the restaurant when he feels a very familiar mind approaching from down the street. Halting, Charles glowers at the figure coming toward him, trying to decide if he should stand his ground or just bolt. But it wouldn’t be very dignified to flee, would it? So, miserable and angry, he remains where he is as Erik draws near.

Erik looks relieved as he comes to a stop in front of Charles. “There you are. I didn’t know which way you’d gone.”

“Good,” Charles snaps.

Erik winces. Haltingly, he says, “Look, I’m…I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“You think?” Charles says scathingly.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Charles glares at him. “Didn’t we part on good terms? We didn’t even have a big fight like we usually do when we break up. It was mutual, wasn’t it? We both agreed.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you being such a fucking asshole? Are you trying to make me hate you?”

Erik flinches. “No. I was just…”

“Just what?” Charles demands. What could possibly justify Erik being so fucking spiteful?

“I was jealous,” Erik grits out, glancing away. “Seeing you on a date, seeing you with him — I got jealous, okay? And I obviously didn’t handle that well.”

Charles stares at him. “You were jealous?”

“Can you blame me?” Erik gives him a disgusted look, though the contempt seems more aimed at himself than at Charles. “He’s like your fucking soulmate. He’s perfect for you. He even asked to read your thesis.”

“What about Magda?”

“What about her?”

“She’s — she’s your bloody soulmate!” Charles exclaims. “She’s Jewish! And she’s going to law school, too! And your mother loves her!”

“She’s barely even met my mother.”

“Still! Your mother can finally get all the adorable Jewish grandkids she’s always dreamed about. Don’t think I didn’t pick that up from her?”

“My mother loves you,” Erik says, sounding faintly bewildered.

“Not as much as she’d love Magda,” Charles says. “And she’s even from Brooklyn!”

Furious all over again, Charles stalks past him, marching briskly back toward the restaurant. After a second, Erik chases him down. “Wait.”

“Why don’t you get back to your perfect girlfriend,” Charles growls without slowing, “and I’ll take Steve and go. That is, if he even wants to go anywhere with me after this.”

“You can’t just go.”

“And why can’t I?”

“Because — I mean, you’re obviously jealous!”

Charles stops again. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he fumes, whirling on Erik.

“You,” Erik says deliberately, “are jealous of me and Magda.”

Charles’s withering reply dissolves as soon as it hits his tongue. He can’t lie, can he? His feelings must be written all over his face in humiliating clarity.

“So?” he says instead, trying to make his voice as cold and impassive as possible.

“Don’t you think it means something if I’m jealous of your date and you’re jealous of mine?” Erik asks.

“Of course it means something,” Charles says, swallowing. “But it doesn’t matter. We have to learn to move on from each other. This is just — growing pains.”

Erik frowns. “Do we have to?”

Charles barks out a short, humorless laugh. “Yes. Yes, we have to. Erik, we’ve been on and off since college. That’s eight years. It’s never going to work out in the long run. We’ll always fight about something, and I don’t think I can do that anymore. I can’t handle us breaking up every few months.”

“You’re right,” Erik says. When Charles blinks in surprise at him, Erik says, “You’re right, we’re always going to fight about something. We’re never going to have the perfect relationship. I’m sure we’re going to disagree on things for the rest of our lives. But you know what I realized in there? I don’t care about that. I could have the most perfect cookie cutter life with Magda, but I’d choose fighting with you any day. I love you. That hasn’t ever changed.”

For a moment, all Charles can do is stand there, his breath pluming white in the frigid night air. His heart does something very strange in his chest, twisting and squeezing in a way that hurts, but in a good way. Annoyingly, he finds his eyes pricking with tears.

“If you really like Steve,” Erik says finally, “I won’t get in the way.”

“I do like Steve.”

Erik steps back. “Then — ”

“But I love you,” Charles continues. “Goddammit, I love you.”

When he throws himself forward, Erik catches him without hesitation. Their mouths meet awkwardly, teeth clacking painfully, but Erik doesn’t give an inch and Charles doesn’t make any move to draw away. Charles pours all his regret and anger and love into the kiss, wanting Erik to feel how lonely he’s been since they broke up, how much he hates when they’re apart, even though he pretends to be totally fine. And Erik responds in kind: Charles can feel his own anger and sorrow and overpowering relief that Charles has come back to him, that Charles chose him.

When they finally pull away to breathe, Erik says hoarsely, “I really am sorry, you know. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Charles gives him a shaky smile. “I’ll let you make it up to me. But we’re going to have to talk about your anger and jealousy issues.”

“Just mine?”

“Alright, ours.” Charles kisses him again, hard. “We can’t promise to be perfect, but can we promise that the next time we want to break up, we’ll stick it out? We’ll actually talk to each other and not yell and actually listen to each other?”

Erik smiles ruefully. “I think I can promise that.”

“Then,” Charles murmurs, “I think we might stand a shot at making this work.”

“Good,” Erik says, gathering him close, “because I know I want to grow old with you, even if we can’t go a day without arguing.”

Charles laughs, a bit teary. “Why, darling, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“They must have made up, right?” Magda asks, idly sipping at her wine.

Steve checks his watch. “It’s been almost forty-five minutes. I think they might have made up.”

Magda grins. “Mission accomplished then.”

They clink their wineglasses together.

“Do you think they’ll figure out that they were set up?” Magda asks speculatively.

“I don’t think they’ll care very much,” Steve replies.

“Well now Kitty owes me a favor.”

“And Tony owes me one, too.”

Another brief silence falls over the table. Then Magda gives him an inquisitive look and says, “Are you interested in getting out of here?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

Magda shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s see where the night goes.”

Steve deliberates for a moment, then pulls out his wallet. Tossing several bills onto the table, he stands and offers her his hand. “Lead the way.”

#chef's kiss #fic for the day #food for the soul #cherik

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cherikwine · 5 years ago

Text

When The Darkness Comes

A cherik Star Wars AU based on this prompt by @mnemo-ink (thank you for this angst prompt, I missed crying while writing something) and this post that made me want to watch Star Wars again. Happy Star Wars day and I'm sorry for the angst !

CW: Choking.

When Charles first saw Erik, he wanted to scream. It came to him as an urge, the desire to let his voice sound louder than the constant noise of burning coming from the planet around them, so maybe Erik would listen to him, would answer him. There were so many questions going through Charles' head that he almost felt dizzy as Erik's eyes looked at him with a mixture of surprise and concern for his presence in Mustafa, and Charles felt even more the urge to scream when he saw that concert on the grey eyes of his husband.

Why did you do this?

Why did you kill all those people? All those children?

Why would you do that?

Why did you betray me?

The questions swirled around Charles' head so loudly that he didn't know if he was projecting them or not, but considering that Erik's stance didn't change, and neither did his expression, Charles knew that he was probably being able to hold his telepathy at bay at that moment, even with all of the emotions that seemed to be making him lose the sense of where he was and what he was doing there, everything too intense for him. He tried to focus on the feeling of the fabric around his body, the red cloak brushing against the skin of his arms lightly, soft and yet grounding enough to allow Charles to go back to the moment and take the first steps to leave the ship and meet his husband, each movement making him aware of the knife that pressed against his hips.

Erik seemed to hesitate, but soon he was walking as well, concern and something more staining the grey in his eyes that Charles used to love so much. It was as if Erik dreaded Charles' presence there, but the telepath didn't want to get into the Jedi's head anymore, not with all the darkness spreading across his mind, so he could only wonder what that look meant.

"What are you doing here?" Erik's voice was out of breath when he finally reached Charles and put his hands on the other man's waist, holding him close. There was some kind of pain there, mixed with disbelief, that Charles caught on his voice and on his surface thoughts that now seemed to scream for Charles as Erik's mind has always done. Calling for him at the same time it repelled Charles' presence. "You shouldn't be here…"

Charles closed his eyes, Erik's touch seeming to burn his skin under the layers of fabric just like the molten lava of Mustafa would do. He wished it didn't hurt so much, he wished he didn't feel like it was his fault that Erik was there, that Erik had killed, and above it all he wished he didn't need to do what he was about to do.

He didn't answer Erik's question, instead taking the small knife that was against his hip, hidden by the cloak, and making a harsh movement that would've killed Erik in an instant if his hand hadn't stopped all of the sudden when the blade was mere inches from making contact with the skin, and Charles took in a shuddering breath as he looked up at Erik for a moment. He'd like to say the knife stopped because Erik stopped it with his powers, controlling the metal blade and keeping it from hurting him, but saying that would be a lie. The knife stopped because Charles stopped, something making him hesitate. He shouldn't hesitate, not when Erik was a threat for the Republic, not when Erik had killed all those children, but as much as he wanted to say otherwise, those grey eyes that stared down at him with disbelief and betrayal were still the eyes of the man he loved, and he hated himself for still loving Erik, for allowing his feelings to take the best of him.

But, in the end, Erik was doing this because emotion took the best of him. They weren't so different after all.

"Go on, then." Erik said, voice somber as his eyes shifted a little, getting darker. His hands still held Charles' waist tightly, hands trembling against him with anticipation. "Kill me."

Charles tried. He tried to force his hand to finish the job, to end Erik's life and end the threat he became, but he couldn't. He gritted his teeth, watching Erik still look at him with a somewhat stern face, as if he accepted the fate that would come to him if Charles made the decision, and he wanted to scream again. He wanted to let out the pent up pain that was growing and growing inside his chest as he looked at his husband there. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt before, and he wished Erik could stop that pain, could take him in his arms and soothe him, tell him it'll all be okay. But it wouldn't be okay.

He noticed tears leaving his eyes, wetting his face and running down his cheeks, and he hated himself even more for crying. A pained sound left his mouth when he realized he couldn't, when, even with everything Erik had done until that moment, his heart still belonged to the man who held him by his waist. When he realized he was sacrificing the Republic and the freedom of the galaxy because he couldn't kill Erik.

Charles lowered his head, sobbing silently as his hands grabbed Erik's shoulders in a tight grip that probably hurt, not knowing what to do. The blade fell from his hand directly to the ground with a metallic noise, proving once and for all how weak he was.

"Why?"

It was all that came out of his mouth. He couldn't finish none of the questions that still made his head hurt, couldn't say anything other than that, and he felt Erik's arms pull him closer in an embrace that seemed to hurt Charles more than comfort him.

His mind was so busy with the self loathing that he didn't pick up the spark in Erik's mind at that moment, he didn't see the idea that came over him covered with a layer of pain, and all of the sudden Charles felt his own breathing stop, an invisible grasp taking hold of his throat and making him choke. He pulled away from Erik, hands coming to his own throat in an useless attempt to get rid of the invisible hand that held it tightly, seeing Erik's face again when he took a few steps back. He looked torn, as if part of him was determined to kill Charles at that moment but the other loathed the idea.

Charles almost wanted to laugh. He had been weak after all, had lost his chance to end everything there with the knife that now laid on the ground and slowly melted thanks to the intensity of Erik's powers around him. But Erik wouldn't be weak, Erik would kill him for going against him in the end, and he felt his heart breaking in a million pieces at that moment.

There's more in you, Erik, Charles tried, sounding breathless even in Erik's mind, and he saw the Jedi wince when he heard it, a spark of pain crossing his mind as if hearing Charles like this was too much, almost making him back away on his decision. There's still good in you, I know it.

"You're wrong, Charles." his voice broke despite himself, the grip on Charles' throat tightening and making the corners of his vision turn black and his head get more and more lighter. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Charles…"

Charles could stop him, could nudge Erik's mind and make him stop it and kill him there, but he realized he couldn't. He wouldn't be able to kill Erik, even now. He wouldn't be able to live with that pain, and he wondered if Erik could. He had felt pain before, had endured more of it than Charles could even imagine, and Charles wondered if he was going to be just another pain that Erik would have to deal with, or if he would feel pain at all. He selfishly wished that Erik did, that the Jedi's love for Charles was enough for him to feel the pain of losing Charles.

I love you, Charles sent over with the last of the energy he still had, taking his hands from his throat and allowing the invisible grip keep him upwards as his body slowly lost the strength that kept his limbs working, blue eyes on Erik's grey ones. I always will.

The last thing Charles saw was the tears falling from Erik's eyes and the sob that took over him before everything faded to black. The last thing he felt was the pain coming from his husband, and the sick satisfaction to know that Erik loved him enough to feel that pain.

#im feeling like my icon

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