To Be Alone (With You): Chapter One
Title: To Be Alone (With You): Chapter One
Author: dizzycalm beta'd by the lovely Madneto
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)
Warnings: child abuse, alcoholism (for this chapter)
Author's Note: This is a WIP and the first time I've written such a long fic. Hopefully each new chapter will be posted on either Wednesday or Thursdays each week.
Summary: Based on this prompt which I wrote and decided to take on myself.
AU set in modern time. Charles and Erik meet as kids. They grow up, discover their powers together, and eventually fall in love... though one is more opposed to the idea than the other. Erik wants what he can't have and Charles is terrified of being like his mother.
Chapter One
Erik was twelve years old when he first met Charles Xavier. It was winter of 1999 in Westchester, and the lake behind the woods in the back of Erik’s aunt’s house was frozen over… or so he thought. Erik left his aunt in her bed to go out and ice-skate in his brand new running shoes his aunt had worked hard to buy for him. He remembers a time when he had his own skates that were worn black leather, and how he would slide across the ice with his hand firmly clasped within his mother’s. His father would be standing far away from the ice cheering him on; his father was a horrible klutz and had gotten tired of the constant bruises and aching backs he would receive trying to skate with his son. His wife, though, was like a snow angel, twirling with her long brown hair flowing in the cold air. Erik would give anything to see her once more like that… so beautiful and the look on his father’s face while watching… so loved.
That was three years ago, in Germany, back before the fire that had trapped his mother inside and had sent his father running in to rescue her. Ten year old Erik had been left standing barefoot in the cold grass, waiting signs of his parents reappearing, but none came. When the roof came crashing down engulfing everything below in a cloud of fire, Erik ran to the front door. If it hadn’t been for his neighbor, Erik would have easily joined his mother and father. The neighbor was an elderly man, and so for him to overpower a ten year old with his heart set on entering a burning building took all of his energy and effort. Erik thrashed about violently, clawed at the hands that grabbed his arms, screamed himself hoarse.
Even wrapped up in his neighbor’s arms he still tried helplessly to get down by throwing his head, trying to get whoever was behind off. He screamed until nothing was left. Erik had expected to hear his parents voices calling back, but was only met with the harsh sounds of a fire consuming all that he had ever known as a home and a family. It was only after the house came crashing down did the firefighters show up, since they lived in the poorer part of town and nobody really rushed to get there. They blamed Erik’s family’s lack of fire alarm for the death of his parents instead of the reaction time. The next week his aunt, whom he had only known from photographs, had sent for him to come live with her in New York.
His aunt was a hardworking redhead named Nina. She was constantly out the door to one of her many jobs trying to prove to herself (and most importantly her parents) that she could survive on her own. Erik’s grandparents had died before he could even form proper memories of them, but Nina still felt that drive to prove them wrong. Nina cared for Erik, but she didn’t love him and he could tell. They were practically strangers. She often would look upon her nephew with pity in her eyes, setting Erik’s teeth on edge. He didn’t want to be pitied, he wanted to be loved. She was also constantly reminding him of how expensive it was raising a growing boy, and how much harder their life would be now, even though Erik had already learned how difficult it was. He had often felt like a burden to his parents who worked so hard to clothe and feed him. They had struggled trying to give Erik everything he needed because of the love they had for their son; Nina hadn’t asked for the added expensive of a child. The brand new shoes on his feet were, “The cost of my grocery bill when I was living alone!”
Erik had no idea how many jobs his aunt actually worked, but he knew he was often left to entertain himself and he liked it that way. He would rather go and do as he pleased freely, instead of Nina watching him like a hawk, thinking he was about to have another crying fit at any moment; the first had happened a few hours after he arrived at Nina’s house. Erik couldn’t hold back the longing he felt for his own home and his parents. The sobs couldn’t be controlled, even though Erik tried hard to swallow them down. Nina had just stood there, awkwardly patting him on the back with a, “There there.” Erik liked being alone and not having to guard his emotions so closely. Nina liked leaving him alone to work through his own feelings, instead of standing around awkwardly ready to comfort at any moment. Her three jobs helped keep her out of his way and free from the cramped house.
Erik often leaves the house late at night; he won’t think of it as sneaking out since nobody has ever told him he wasn’t allowed. That line of thinking keeps his mind free of guilt as he takes walks up and down their street, climbs up an old tree in the yard to watch the bats zoom by, or sit on the edge of the massive lake whenever sleep evades him.
This particular night, Erik feels the ice calling to him as he makes his way through the woods behind their tiny two bedroom house. The house doesn’t look too bad in the moonlight when you aren’t able to see the peeling green paint, crumbling cement steps, or screen door that is missing the screen. He runs through the dense woods until the view of his house is gone, his footsteps are sure and steady as he jumps over fallen trees and dead branches. The massive frozen lake comes into view, and Erik is thankful the darkness hides the mansion on the other side; he always feels like the massive structure is watching him. Erik hurries down to the edge of the lake to immediately set out on what he’s been planning all day. The brand new running shoes he puts on for this adventure feel awkward against the dark ice underneath his feet. The flat bottoms with grooves meant for catching on pavement have no traction on the ice; his feet are unsteady unlike how they would be in ice-skates.
He takes great care as he first slides out a few feet from the shore, but it doesn’t take long at all for his confidence to build along with his speed. Breathing deeply with his eyes closed, Erik tries to recall the memories of his mother skating. He smiles to himself as he goes further away from bank with his eyes still squeezed shut, trying his hardest to conjure visions of dark brown hair waving in the wind and a soft, masculine laugh far away from them where his father would be watching. He slides his running shoes faster and faster, causing the bitter wind to shock him through his black turtleneck, but he shakes it off and tries to spin like before. Sadly, without skates it’s almost impossible to accomplish gracefully and his feet slip out from under him causing him to smash hard into the ice.
His eyes are jerked open as he meets the ice with a grunt as he continues to slide to the middle of the lake. He’s landed on his back with his feet in the air and the panic suddenly crushes into him when he realizes the ice is thinner in the middle. He is still sliding without anything to grab on to but doesn’t cry out for help, because he knows he is alone. His mother isn’t holding his hand and his father isn’t watching from the sidelines.
Erik brings his foot down forcefully trying to reduce speed which only results in a deep crack forming underneath his shoe. His eyes follow the crack as it spreads out quickly before him, racing him to the middle and branching out on all sides until it surrounds him. The loud crunching of destroyed ice meets his ears. The sound gets louder, and suddenly he is plunged into the icy cold, black water down below. He cries out too late causing freezing water to rush into his lungs. His eyes are wide open and his limbs are flailing out trying to remember how to swim, but the shock of the water dulls his reactions. He feels one of his shoes slipping off his feet into the darkness, and a calming yet worried voice says something he can’t quite make out inside his head. Mamma! He looks around trying to find her. Help me, Mamma!
There’s a glowing light in the water below calling to him, Erik is frightened and doesn’t know which way is up, but certainly his Mamma wouldn’t lead him astray. He’ll go to her, she’ll save him, and they’ll be a family again. Erik makes a move to go further into the water, but there’s a push to his back as if somebody has jumped in, and a thin yet persistent arm is wrapped around his chest- the light vanishes as he’s tugged upwards. He immediately fights against the arm that’s keeping him from going deeper, but the freezing water makes his movements sluggish and his muscles weak. Another thin arm joins in the battle to keep dragging him upwards, until his head breaks the surface, and air rushes into his lungs with a sharp gasp, followed by coughing.
Erik gets pushed up onto the ice and lays there, face down against the coldness with a sudden urge to cry. There’s a boy next to him pushing him onto his back.
“Why were you trying to swim away?” the boy cries out, trying to sit him upright.
“I thought I was alone out here.” Erik stares up into incredibly blue eyes.
“You are not alone.” The blue eyed boy’s face is flushed. “Can you stand?”
The boy’s soft accent comforts Erik and reminds him of the brief time his family spent in England when he was about six. The boy doesn’t wait for Erik’s answer and decides to pull him up, even though Erik is taller with broader shoulders where the boy is shorter with a slender frame.
“I can stand.” Erik immediately proves himself wrong when his legs cramp up and he leans heavily into the smaller boy.
“My house is just over there… we need to get dry.”
In the dark, Erik doesn’t see the mansion that’s across the lake from the woods, or the myriad empty vodka bottles in the kitchen they pass through up to the nameless boy’s room.
“My name is Erik.” His teeth chatter noisily, but he feels he has to introduce him if he’s being invited into the other’s home. Risk of hypothermia or not, his father has taught him to always be polite.
“I’m Charles. Please don’t call me, Charlie.” The red-faced, blue-eyed Charles smiles at him crookedly and something strange happens inside Erik’s chest. The homesickness that has plagued him for the past two years is suddenly gone.
The next morning Charles wakes up with Erik’s back pressed against his own back, facing the wall. He must have rolled over and smashed the poor boy in his sleep, because there is hardly any space between Erik’s face, the wall, and Charles’s back. His bed is a queen size, and Charles moves around a lot in his sleep. His dreams are so realistic he’ll end up waking himself up by fighting off an attacker, or his body would jerk from some dream blow to his stomach. He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep afterwards. These dreams come less often when his step-father and step-brother are away like they are now.
When Charles was eight years old, his mother, Sharon, married Kurt Marko. Kurt was close friends with his father, a nuclear scientist who died in a car accident along with Kurt’s wife, Angela Marko. He brought along to the marriage not only his son, Cain, but also his gambling habits, and his many mistresses that he likes to talk openly about to his wife. This only gives Sharon an excuse to binge drink and fly all over the world, chasing after Kurt on his lengthy “business trips” which mostly consist of him spending money on “business expenses” where he teaches his son how to be a “man”. Charles can only describe Kurt’s work as wandering around the world making promises to desperate businessmen and lovelorn women. The promises may lead them to more money where Kurt gets sixty percent of the profits, and other times it leads to unwanted pregnancy. If Charles sounds bitter when people ask what his step-father does for a living, it’s because he is. Charles grits his teeth and says, “He’s an entrepreneur.” Which is what Kurt calls it in polite company.
Charles doesn’t understand why, but Sharon desperately loves his step-father. She begs him to never leave her, and is constantly throwing herself at him in public to get his attention. Sometimes his mother comes to his room late at night to talk about her and Kurt’s relationship issues. They mostly consist of, “I love him, but he doesn’t want me”, “I want him to love me more”, “I need his attention”, “He says he loves me, but I want him to show me”, “I adore him more than anything in this world”, “I’d rather die than lose him.”
Charles hates Kurt. He hates how he makes sure his mother is stocked up on her favorite alcohol before going on an extended business trip. He hates how Kurt looks the other way when Cain’s fist tears open his flesh or his foot crushes his abdomen. He hates how he puts down his father in front of him so easily and he hates how much his mother loves him. It terrifies him to think somebody could love so blindly and never wants to feel that way.
Charles’s skin feels overheated from where they’re lying back to back. It’s amazing how much heat Erik started generating after getting warmed up. Charles rolls to over on his back to look over at his new friend. Erik is indeed going to be his friend; he likes the look about him. He likes that when Erik smiles, because it feels like everything is going to be okay. This boy who tries to look so intimidating yet is so agonizingly sad can actually brighten up for a moment and smile, showing all his teeth. Shouldn’t Charles be able to do the same?
Charles has noticed lately that he can tell how somebody is generally feeling. He knows when his mother is sober enough to carry a conversation from a block away if he concentrates hard enough. He can linger around the lake behind his house if he feels the presence of Cain or Kurt at home. He could feel the sadness rolling off Erik at the lake.
He had a dream earlier that night where he stood at the edge of a lake far away from his home. He was next to an older man who looked out across the frozen water at a young boy and a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She was spinning him around in circles while the boy giggled and waved to his Papa. When he jerked awake he wasn’t in his bed anymore, but outside his backdoor. Erik’s pain and distress from the middle of the lake came at him in waves making it hard to breathe. Later, he felt Erik’s happiness when they exchanged names, and his contentment at just staying up talking about comic books until their teeth stopped chattering. Charles wants to know where Erik’s pain and anguish came from and why it went away so suddenly. He’s never felt emotions as strongly as Erik’s feels them. He wants to know everything about the other boy and tell him all his secrets. He wants a friend.
“I’ve never had an actual friend before,” Charles explains when Erik has woken up and eaten some toast Charles made him. They are sitting on the floor in Charles’s room. “Will you be my friend?”
“My aunt worked so hard for these shoes.” Erik is picking at his one remaining shoe not meeting Charles’s eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to wear them until school started.”
Charles takes the shoe away from Erik’s grasp forcing the boy to look up at him. “I’ll buy you new ones!” He tries smiling brightly at Erik to get a reaction out of him.
“Why would you do that?” Instead of looking pleased, Erik looks upset and grabs his shoe back. His German accent is thick when upset.
“We’ll be friends… and friends do anything for each other, right?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had one either.” Erik is again staring at his shoe.
“So we’ll figure it out as we go along. Please, be my friend.” Charles hasn’t begged for anything in his life. Well maybe for his mother to stop after the first bottle of vodka or Cain to soften his punches. Charles suddenly feels he’s making a fool of himself by Erik’s still disapproving scowl.
“Don’t buy me shoes and I’ll be your friend. Don’t pity me.” Charles feels how strongly Erik hates being pitied.
“Oh Erik, I would never pity you… my friend.” Erik’s smile is just as bright as Charles’s own.
To be continued...
Author: dizzycalm beta'd by the lovely Madneto
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter PG-13)
Warnings: child abuse, alcoholism (for this chapter)
Author's Note: This is a WIP and the first time I've written such a long fic. Hopefully each new chapter will be posted on either Wednesday or Thursdays each week.
Summary: Based on this prompt which I wrote and decided to take on myself.
AU set in modern time. Charles and Erik meet as kids. They grow up, discover their powers together, and eventually fall in love... though one is more opposed to the idea than the other. Erik wants what he can't have and Charles is terrified of being like his mother.
Chapter One
Erik was twelve years old when he first met Charles Xavier. It was winter of 1999 in Westchester, and the lake behind the woods in the back of Erik’s aunt’s house was frozen over… or so he thought. Erik left his aunt in her bed to go out and ice-skate in his brand new running shoes his aunt had worked hard to buy for him. He remembers a time when he had his own skates that were worn black leather, and how he would slide across the ice with his hand firmly clasped within his mother’s. His father would be standing far away from the ice cheering him on; his father was a horrible klutz and had gotten tired of the constant bruises and aching backs he would receive trying to skate with his son. His wife, though, was like a snow angel, twirling with her long brown hair flowing in the cold air. Erik would give anything to see her once more like that… so beautiful and the look on his father’s face while watching… so loved.
That was three years ago, in Germany, back before the fire that had trapped his mother inside and had sent his father running in to rescue her. Ten year old Erik had been left standing barefoot in the cold grass, waiting signs of his parents reappearing, but none came. When the roof came crashing down engulfing everything below in a cloud of fire, Erik ran to the front door. If it hadn’t been for his neighbor, Erik would have easily joined his mother and father. The neighbor was an elderly man, and so for him to overpower a ten year old with his heart set on entering a burning building took all of his energy and effort. Erik thrashed about violently, clawed at the hands that grabbed his arms, screamed himself hoarse.
Even wrapped up in his neighbor’s arms he still tried helplessly to get down by throwing his head, trying to get whoever was behind off. He screamed until nothing was left. Erik had expected to hear his parents voices calling back, but was only met with the harsh sounds of a fire consuming all that he had ever known as a home and a family. It was only after the house came crashing down did the firefighters show up, since they lived in the poorer part of town and nobody really rushed to get there. They blamed Erik’s family’s lack of fire alarm for the death of his parents instead of the reaction time. The next week his aunt, whom he had only known from photographs, had sent for him to come live with her in New York.
His aunt was a hardworking redhead named Nina. She was constantly out the door to one of her many jobs trying to prove to herself (and most importantly her parents) that she could survive on her own. Erik’s grandparents had died before he could even form proper memories of them, but Nina still felt that drive to prove them wrong. Nina cared for Erik, but she didn’t love him and he could tell. They were practically strangers. She often would look upon her nephew with pity in her eyes, setting Erik’s teeth on edge. He didn’t want to be pitied, he wanted to be loved. She was also constantly reminding him of how expensive it was raising a growing boy, and how much harder their life would be now, even though Erik had already learned how difficult it was. He had often felt like a burden to his parents who worked so hard to clothe and feed him. They had struggled trying to give Erik everything he needed because of the love they had for their son; Nina hadn’t asked for the added expensive of a child. The brand new shoes on his feet were, “The cost of my grocery bill when I was living alone!”
Erik had no idea how many jobs his aunt actually worked, but he knew he was often left to entertain himself and he liked it that way. He would rather go and do as he pleased freely, instead of Nina watching him like a hawk, thinking he was about to have another crying fit at any moment; the first had happened a few hours after he arrived at Nina’s house. Erik couldn’t hold back the longing he felt for his own home and his parents. The sobs couldn’t be controlled, even though Erik tried hard to swallow them down. Nina had just stood there, awkwardly patting him on the back with a, “There there.” Erik liked being alone and not having to guard his emotions so closely. Nina liked leaving him alone to work through his own feelings, instead of standing around awkwardly ready to comfort at any moment. Her three jobs helped keep her out of his way and free from the cramped house.
Erik often leaves the house late at night; he won’t think of it as sneaking out since nobody has ever told him he wasn’t allowed. That line of thinking keeps his mind free of guilt as he takes walks up and down their street, climbs up an old tree in the yard to watch the bats zoom by, or sit on the edge of the massive lake whenever sleep evades him.
This particular night, Erik feels the ice calling to him as he makes his way through the woods behind their tiny two bedroom house. The house doesn’t look too bad in the moonlight when you aren’t able to see the peeling green paint, crumbling cement steps, or screen door that is missing the screen. He runs through the dense woods until the view of his house is gone, his footsteps are sure and steady as he jumps over fallen trees and dead branches. The massive frozen lake comes into view, and Erik is thankful the darkness hides the mansion on the other side; he always feels like the massive structure is watching him. Erik hurries down to the edge of the lake to immediately set out on what he’s been planning all day. The brand new running shoes he puts on for this adventure feel awkward against the dark ice underneath his feet. The flat bottoms with grooves meant for catching on pavement have no traction on the ice; his feet are unsteady unlike how they would be in ice-skates.
He takes great care as he first slides out a few feet from the shore, but it doesn’t take long at all for his confidence to build along with his speed. Breathing deeply with his eyes closed, Erik tries to recall the memories of his mother skating. He smiles to himself as he goes further away from bank with his eyes still squeezed shut, trying his hardest to conjure visions of dark brown hair waving in the wind and a soft, masculine laugh far away from them where his father would be watching. He slides his running shoes faster and faster, causing the bitter wind to shock him through his black turtleneck, but he shakes it off and tries to spin like before. Sadly, without skates it’s almost impossible to accomplish gracefully and his feet slip out from under him causing him to smash hard into the ice.
His eyes are jerked open as he meets the ice with a grunt as he continues to slide to the middle of the lake. He’s landed on his back with his feet in the air and the panic suddenly crushes into him when he realizes the ice is thinner in the middle. He is still sliding without anything to grab on to but doesn’t cry out for help, because he knows he is alone. His mother isn’t holding his hand and his father isn’t watching from the sidelines.
Erik brings his foot down forcefully trying to reduce speed which only results in a deep crack forming underneath his shoe. His eyes follow the crack as it spreads out quickly before him, racing him to the middle and branching out on all sides until it surrounds him. The loud crunching of destroyed ice meets his ears. The sound gets louder, and suddenly he is plunged into the icy cold, black water down below. He cries out too late causing freezing water to rush into his lungs. His eyes are wide open and his limbs are flailing out trying to remember how to swim, but the shock of the water dulls his reactions. He feels one of his shoes slipping off his feet into the darkness, and a calming yet worried voice says something he can’t quite make out inside his head. Mamma! He looks around trying to find her. Help me, Mamma!
There’s a glowing light in the water below calling to him, Erik is frightened and doesn’t know which way is up, but certainly his Mamma wouldn’t lead him astray. He’ll go to her, she’ll save him, and they’ll be a family again. Erik makes a move to go further into the water, but there’s a push to his back as if somebody has jumped in, and a thin yet persistent arm is wrapped around his chest- the light vanishes as he’s tugged upwards. He immediately fights against the arm that’s keeping him from going deeper, but the freezing water makes his movements sluggish and his muscles weak. Another thin arm joins in the battle to keep dragging him upwards, until his head breaks the surface, and air rushes into his lungs with a sharp gasp, followed by coughing.
Erik gets pushed up onto the ice and lays there, face down against the coldness with a sudden urge to cry. There’s a boy next to him pushing him onto his back.
“Why were you trying to swim away?” the boy cries out, trying to sit him upright.
“I thought I was alone out here.” Erik stares up into incredibly blue eyes.
“You are not alone.” The blue eyed boy’s face is flushed. “Can you stand?”
The boy’s soft accent comforts Erik and reminds him of the brief time his family spent in England when he was about six. The boy doesn’t wait for Erik’s answer and decides to pull him up, even though Erik is taller with broader shoulders where the boy is shorter with a slender frame.
“I can stand.” Erik immediately proves himself wrong when his legs cramp up and he leans heavily into the smaller boy.
“My house is just over there… we need to get dry.”
In the dark, Erik doesn’t see the mansion that’s across the lake from the woods, or the myriad empty vodka bottles in the kitchen they pass through up to the nameless boy’s room.
“My name is Erik.” His teeth chatter noisily, but he feels he has to introduce him if he’s being invited into the other’s home. Risk of hypothermia or not, his father has taught him to always be polite.
“I’m Charles. Please don’t call me, Charlie.” The red-faced, blue-eyed Charles smiles at him crookedly and something strange happens inside Erik’s chest. The homesickness that has plagued him for the past two years is suddenly gone.
The next morning Charles wakes up with Erik’s back pressed against his own back, facing the wall. He must have rolled over and smashed the poor boy in his sleep, because there is hardly any space between Erik’s face, the wall, and Charles’s back. His bed is a queen size, and Charles moves around a lot in his sleep. His dreams are so realistic he’ll end up waking himself up by fighting off an attacker, or his body would jerk from some dream blow to his stomach. He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep afterwards. These dreams come less often when his step-father and step-brother are away like they are now.
When Charles was eight years old, his mother, Sharon, married Kurt Marko. Kurt was close friends with his father, a nuclear scientist who died in a car accident along with Kurt’s wife, Angela Marko. He brought along to the marriage not only his son, Cain, but also his gambling habits, and his many mistresses that he likes to talk openly about to his wife. This only gives Sharon an excuse to binge drink and fly all over the world, chasing after Kurt on his lengthy “business trips” which mostly consist of him spending money on “business expenses” where he teaches his son how to be a “man”. Charles can only describe Kurt’s work as wandering around the world making promises to desperate businessmen and lovelorn women. The promises may lead them to more money where Kurt gets sixty percent of the profits, and other times it leads to unwanted pregnancy. If Charles sounds bitter when people ask what his step-father does for a living, it’s because he is. Charles grits his teeth and says, “He’s an entrepreneur.” Which is what Kurt calls it in polite company.
Charles doesn’t understand why, but Sharon desperately loves his step-father. She begs him to never leave her, and is constantly throwing herself at him in public to get his attention. Sometimes his mother comes to his room late at night to talk about her and Kurt’s relationship issues. They mostly consist of, “I love him, but he doesn’t want me”, “I want him to love me more”, “I need his attention”, “He says he loves me, but I want him to show me”, “I adore him more than anything in this world”, “I’d rather die than lose him.”
Charles hates Kurt. He hates how he makes sure his mother is stocked up on her favorite alcohol before going on an extended business trip. He hates how Kurt looks the other way when Cain’s fist tears open his flesh or his foot crushes his abdomen. He hates how he puts down his father in front of him so easily and he hates how much his mother loves him. It terrifies him to think somebody could love so blindly and never wants to feel that way.
Charles’s skin feels overheated from where they’re lying back to back. It’s amazing how much heat Erik started generating after getting warmed up. Charles rolls to over on his back to look over at his new friend. Erik is indeed going to be his friend; he likes the look about him. He likes that when Erik smiles, because it feels like everything is going to be okay. This boy who tries to look so intimidating yet is so agonizingly sad can actually brighten up for a moment and smile, showing all his teeth. Shouldn’t Charles be able to do the same?
Charles has noticed lately that he can tell how somebody is generally feeling. He knows when his mother is sober enough to carry a conversation from a block away if he concentrates hard enough. He can linger around the lake behind his house if he feels the presence of Cain or Kurt at home. He could feel the sadness rolling off Erik at the lake.
He had a dream earlier that night where he stood at the edge of a lake far away from his home. He was next to an older man who looked out across the frozen water at a young boy and a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She was spinning him around in circles while the boy giggled and waved to his Papa. When he jerked awake he wasn’t in his bed anymore, but outside his backdoor. Erik’s pain and distress from the middle of the lake came at him in waves making it hard to breathe. Later, he felt Erik’s happiness when they exchanged names, and his contentment at just staying up talking about comic books until their teeth stopped chattering. Charles wants to know where Erik’s pain and anguish came from and why it went away so suddenly. He’s never felt emotions as strongly as Erik’s feels them. He wants to know everything about the other boy and tell him all his secrets. He wants a friend.
“I’ve never had an actual friend before,” Charles explains when Erik has woken up and eaten some toast Charles made him. They are sitting on the floor in Charles’s room. “Will you be my friend?”
“My aunt worked so hard for these shoes.” Erik is picking at his one remaining shoe not meeting Charles’s eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to wear them until school started.”
Charles takes the shoe away from Erik’s grasp forcing the boy to look up at him. “I’ll buy you new ones!” He tries smiling brightly at Erik to get a reaction out of him.
“Why would you do that?” Instead of looking pleased, Erik looks upset and grabs his shoe back. His German accent is thick when upset.
“We’ll be friends… and friends do anything for each other, right?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had one either.” Erik is again staring at his shoe.
“So we’ll figure it out as we go along. Please, be my friend.” Charles hasn’t begged for anything in his life. Well maybe for his mother to stop after the first bottle of vodka or Cain to soften his punches. Charles suddenly feels he’s making a fool of himself by Erik’s still disapproving scowl.
“Don’t buy me shoes and I’ll be your friend. Don’t pity me.” Charles feels how strongly Erik hates being pitied.
“Oh Erik, I would never pity you… my friend.” Erik’s smile is just as bright as Charles’s own.
To be continued...