driftfleet | (no subject)

You seem pensive, at least. [He tilts his head back to look at the stars again.] But I can understand that. There's a lot of time to think.

[ Charles is quiet before he finally speaks up. ]

It's not about the time. It's about me and the steps I want to take in my life.

[Erik watches Charles's face in silence for a moment. Maybe this was behind the meandering conversation. Glancing away, he turns the pen in his fingers, watching the light shine off its edges.]

That's always worth thinking about. [Even if it's hard at times.]

Do you - want to be a part of that?

[Erik whips his head back around to stare at Charles, thunderstruck. The rest of the conversation seems to crystallise behind him, clearer yet multi-faceted. And yet it still manages to take him by surprise.

They had spoken of plans and expectations, the pitfalls therein. Ironically, in acting on his desire not to plan, Charles had thrown a spanner into Erik's. He thinks of the notepad sitting in his lap, full of half-written pieces that had yet to be assembled into something coherent. He thinks of the work left in his room, unfinished. It was true enough, that planning doesn't prepare you for the actions outside your own control.

While it leaves him unprepared, he doesn't need to consider his response. He's known it for a while now. It comes slightly breathless, but no less sincere.]

Yes.

[ Charles stares. He couldn't help it. He had been so sure the answer would be a resounding no or even a deflection, a need to think about it. It had been sudden after all and Charles would hardly find fault in struggling for an answer.

But it's just . . . a simple agreement. Yes.

He turns his face away, brushing at his eyes quickly. ]

[It seems like they've both managed to floor each other. Erik swallows, turning the notepad over in his hands, feeling shaky with the moment.]

I've been... I was going to write you a letter. To tell you that I want to come home. [To ask for permission to do so, with all the danger and baggage that Erik would bring with him.] I hadn't figured out the words yet.

[ I want to come home. It feels like a physical blow and Charles reels from it. ]

Why now? What changed?

I... realised something. About why I left.

[Part of it, at least. This was the difficult part, what had taken him a long time to realise. After a moment, he opens the notebook, flipping some of the pages until he finds the right one. He presses the open book into Charles's hands.

He returns his hands to his lap, tightly clasped, feeling the tension build up in his heart.]

Like I said... I wasn't done writing it yet.

[ He huffs despite himself. ]

I've never known you to be a great letter writer.

[ Or to even pen his thoughts down on paper. Charles wants to push harder, get more concrete answers but he gets the feeling Erik doesn't know why he left, why he needed to.

(why Charles wasn't enough to be a family for him) ]

Take your time.

[He shakes his head.]

You can read what's there now.

[The pages open in the book are covered with writing... about half of it crossed or scribbled out. He wasn't joking when he said it was a work in progress. Two sections are clear of any deletions, though.]

You told me that you would always be there for me. I know that's true, despite everything. But I also knew then that I haven't always been there for you.

[It's followed by a variety of aborted sentences; he hadn't gotten very far beyond that point. The right page, however, is more complete.]

The truth is that I left because I was afraid. I was afraid of what would happen to your school if I stayed in it, what would follow me there if I remained. More than that, I was afraid of what I lacked, and how obvious it would be the longer I stayed. ~~I wasn't~~ You were all looking forward to better things. I wasn't; I would only poison everything around me.

There's something nameless to the feeling, beyond that. I've only been able to see it now because of what happened on that wrecked ship. When I felt that kind of fear and realised it felt wrong, I started thinking back. To every other moment. I don't know how much of it is real and how much is twisted. But it exists.

It didn't feel that way then, either time. I had other reasons to go. Reasons I told myself, and you. Justifications. Now that I feel it so often, I know what it is.

[From there, the page is blank.]

[ Charles bites on his lip but there's no stopping the tears, the regrets that are written on the page, mingling with his own. The old bitterness comes welling up to choke his words. ]

My better things - the thing that I wanted was a future with you.

[ All this fear, this feeling . . . is that all it took to break their relationship? Would it just happen again . . . inevitably? Charles swallows tightly. ]

I'm glad - that you're finding your answers, Erik. Truly.

[ He hands back the notepad. ]

But this letter isn't for me. It's for you. I haven't changed, Erik. Nothing about me has changed. I still care the way I have. Still love the people I've chosen. The reasons don't matter to me.

[Something in his chest constricts painfully, the memory of wanting the same thing. Two lives, one where he wasn't brave enough to have the conversation and left, only to find another love in Magda where he had never expected to find anything of the sort again. And the other, where they had raised the question, painful as it was, and come through it.

He has to chase the thought back, give himself room to breathe.]

It's for both of us. [Whether Charles felt like he needed it or not, Erik felt that he deserved to have it in words. A truth he'd had to drag out of himself.]

The reasons do matter. I don't want to come back just for my own sake. I want to be part of your life. [Even if it's only as a presence. He wants to be there; it's something he can do, for someone he cares about deeply.]

[ Charles nods, but there's something . . . dismissive about the movement. Like he's heard Erik's words but he's not giving it much thought. Charles wants to retreat, but he forces himself to give this due consideration. ]

And you are. You can be. I wouldn't shut you out.

[ But haven't you already? a traitorous thought rings in his mind. He knows he has, to some degree. He can't do it again with Erik. Charles trusts Erik. Cares about him. More than that, clearly.

But he knows better to believe in Erik. Especially since Erik himself is still learning to trust and believe in himself. ]

[Erik doubts Charles would shut anyone out. It still forms a dim worry deep in his mind. Not shutting someone out isn't the same as inviting them in, however. Erik can see the slight pulling back, the distance reemerging. It prompts him to ask:]

Why did you ask me?

Because I wanted to know.

[ He wanted Erik to be a part of his life. That hasn't changed. Or . . . probably cannot change. It's been tied to his being for too long. ]

Because there are things I want.

Have you ever read the story of Pinocchio?

[Erik nods slowly, knowing what a decisive step it is for Charles to say what he wants. It has happened only rarely before... and it's more heartening that Erik was able to easily give his answer.]

A long time ago.

There's a character, Jiminy Cricket. He comes to Pinocchio to help him find himself, to become real.

Pinocchio kills him within the first few pages of his entrance. But Jiminy comes back. He stays. He helps. And he's ultimately forgotten when Pinocchio gets his wish.

[The allegory is clear. Erik's heart squeezes, and he remembers another time and place, where he'd told Charles not to stay if Erik was hurting him.]

That's not what you are.

Isn't it? Deep down in my bones, this is who I am. This is who the future wanted me to be. There was never any grand speech about any kind of personal fulfillment. Just the image of a brighter future for mutants.

[ He exhales, collecting his thoughts. ]

I'm not saying you hurt me. I'm not even blaming you. I just fooled myself into thinking otherwise.

[Erik stares at him for a long moment, before speaking.]

Charles, I have the utmost respect for you. You've done more for me, and for mutants, than could ever be expected or asked for. I know how important that future is to you. I know what you've given up to get there.

But that's bullshit.

I beg your pardon.

[Forgive him for his factory worker mouth. He sighs, tapping the pen against his leg.]

You've taken what your future self told you to be the sum of all parts, that nothing further exists than what he told you. He was living through the end of the world, from what you've said. He told you what you needed to hear in that moment. Not in this moment, or any other time.

You say that this is what the future wanted you to be. I shouldn't have to remind you that that future changed. You're more than just someone who helps, or a leader for those who have nothing else. You're a man with a heart, a mutant with a soul. You love and you care and you feel pain.

Of course I hurt you. Saying otherwise might help how it feels; I don't know. But saying you fooled yourself into those feelings does you a disservice. You, as someone who deserves just as much personal fulfilment as anyone else.

I wasn't drawn to you back when we met because I wanted your help, even if you've given it to me over and over. I wanted to be near you. And that hasn't changed.

[ Charles imagines his face has gone white. He certainly feels like he's dangling off a cliff and one precise word could make or break him. I want to come home. I wanted to be near you. The words he wanted to hear feel unreal, almost too good to be true and he doesn't want to repeat the pattern. But Charles can't deny the impact of them either. ]

No. But everything else has.

[Erik can feel his heart thundering louder in his ears, his fingers twitch in his lap. It's been like circling around a whirlpool, trying to skirt the edges without plunging into the swirling vortex in the middle. There's an inevitability to it, terrifying and attractive all at once.

He puts the notepad and pen aside, getting to his feet. He steps up next to Charles's chair.]

Some things changed. A lot of them. [A little quieter.] But not everything.

[Anything he could say next gets stuck in his throat, a knot of emotions twisting in his stomach. Words always prove to be hard to catch, like smoke on the breeze.

Instead, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Charles, hugging him.]