Remix Redux X: So Much Closer (Looks Better On You Remix)
So Much Closer (Looks Better On You Remix)
1,111 words | G for Gen | Charles/Erik background
Inspired by Looks Better On You by pocky_slash. Thanks to my beta S. for the help!
It was submission day for Charles Xavier's PhD.
Charles woke up to an empty bed. It was to be expected. Erik had an early start and worked all the way across town. Combine that with the fact that he had to catch public transport because he hated driving, it meant that he must have left two hours ago at least.
Charles groaned. He hated waking to a cold bed. Tomorrow he was going to wake up wrapped around Erik, he’d make sure of that. He stretched and reached across for his phone. He checked his emails and once he was sure nothing disastrous had happened while he was sleeping, he dragged himself out.
He shuffled to the kitchen and started the water boiler, and then had a cursory look in the fridge. He scanned the contents and when his stomach clenched uncomfortably, he decided against food.
He started up the computer and replied to a few last minute emails and caught up with the news while he finished his coffee, then jumped in the shower.
He was out the door within the hour.
***
Submitting went a lot smoother than he had thought it would. The fact that he was expecting the worst might have had to do something with it though.
It wasn’t a surprise, however, as he’s been hit with roadblocks every step of the way. Besides all the little failures along the way (computer breakdown, stolen hard drive, an actual fire in the library), the advisors tore it apart every chance they got; his sample was too small, the leaps he made were too great, his references too few. Then there was the sudden death of his stepfather earlier in the year which had brought everything to a grinding halt.
It still made him feel dismal when he remembered how badly his mother had taken it. Even though they had never seen eye to eye on anything, she was still his mother, and this was the second husband she’d lost.
It had taken a month for him to sort out all the relevant paperwork and to pick his mother up from the depression she’d spiralled into. When he came back it had taken another two weeks to get himself back on track.
But now it was over, he realised as he stepped off the bus. It was over. It was finally over. No more writing, no more editing, no more rethinking and changing and second guessing himself, it was over.
He made a beeline for the kitchen first. Besides the coffee this morning he hadn’t trusted himself to keep anything down, so of course now that he was free, (it was over!) he was famished.
He made himself a sandwich with almost everything he could find in the fridge, then he flicked through the DVR till he found the seemingly endless list of episodes he’d missed, so he settled down to eat his sandwich while he caught up with the last few episodes of Doctor Who.
When he finished the sandwich, he was ready to curl up and sleep forever, even though he still had a few episodes to go. Then he remembered what Erik had said last night about no kissing until he was clean. He gave a heavyhearted sigh and dragged himself to the shower instead. However, he was glad of that decision when he was under the water. He scrubbed away what felt like layers of dirt, and with it went the layers of worry and tension.
He must have stood under the water for much longer than he needed to, until his fingertips wrinkled and he could barely keep his eyes open. He stepped out, wrapped a towel around himself and padded to the bedroom.
He pulled a clean pair of jeans from the closet and put them on, but when he pulled out a shirt something fell out on to the ground. He picked it up and was about to put it back when he caught a hint of cologne. Erik's cologne. He pulled the sweater closer and buried his face in it. It smelled like Erik and happiness and contentment. It smelled like home.
He threw his own shirt back into the closet and slipped Erik's over his head. It was definitely too big for him, the neck going well past what was decent, the hem reaching his mid-thigh and the sleeves completely covering his hands.
He pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. It was too warm for sweaters this time of year but he wasn’t about to take it off any time soon.
He yawned and pulled the sweater closer to himself. Erik should be home soon so he really shouldn’t go to bed no matter how tempting it was. He picked up his long abandoned novel and left for the living room, but all he could see were reference books and piles of papers, so he withdrew to the office.
He couldn’t remember the last time he was here, which was probably how the room had become so distinctly Erik without his even noticing; the desk clear of all clutter, all the things aligned, even the pictures which had made it to the wall were perfectly parallel.
He curled up on the armchair in the corner, pulled the afgan that was lying over the back around him, and opened to where the page was marked. Before long, the words started to blur and swim in front of his eyes. He’d left his reading glasses back in the living room, of course. He could see exactly where they were in his mind’s eye.
He sighed. He was not about to get up to get up them, not when he was so comfortable. He focused on the photos instead, trying to remember when each one was taken. One had them posing in front of a lake at night, their first date. Another had them sitting in a meadow on the grounds of the estate back in England. Charles was busy explaining something, hands in midair while Erik just stared at him.
He couldn’t remember anyone taking the photo, which meant Erik must have done it while Charles wasn’t looking. He smiled despite himself. He couldn’t even remember what he had been so intently explaining at the time. The whole trip was a vague memory, even though it had only been 6 months ago, and what he could remember was nowhere near so picturesque.
He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, so he gave in and closed them. He fell asleep thinking about Erik's intent gaze and Erik's scent and Erik's hands, and how soon he'd get to enjoy all that again, without worries or distractions or anything. He was done.
1,111 words | G for Gen | Charles/Erik background
Inspired by Looks Better On You by pocky_slash. Thanks to my beta S. for the help!
It was submission day for Charles Xavier's PhD.
Charles woke up to an empty bed. It was to be expected. Erik had an early start and worked all the way across town. Combine that with the fact that he had to catch public transport because he hated driving, it meant that he must have left two hours ago at least.
Charles groaned. He hated waking to a cold bed. Tomorrow he was going to wake up wrapped around Erik, he’d make sure of that. He stretched and reached across for his phone. He checked his emails and once he was sure nothing disastrous had happened while he was sleeping, he dragged himself out.
He shuffled to the kitchen and started the water boiler, and then had a cursory look in the fridge. He scanned the contents and when his stomach clenched uncomfortably, he decided against food.
He started up the computer and replied to a few last minute emails and caught up with the news while he finished his coffee, then jumped in the shower.
He was out the door within the hour.
***
Submitting went a lot smoother than he had thought it would. The fact that he was expecting the worst might have had to do something with it though.
It wasn’t a surprise, however, as he’s been hit with roadblocks every step of the way. Besides all the little failures along the way (computer breakdown, stolen hard drive, an actual fire in the library), the advisors tore it apart every chance they got; his sample was too small, the leaps he made were too great, his references too few. Then there was the sudden death of his stepfather earlier in the year which had brought everything to a grinding halt.
It still made him feel dismal when he remembered how badly his mother had taken it. Even though they had never seen eye to eye on anything, she was still his mother, and this was the second husband she’d lost.
It had taken a month for him to sort out all the relevant paperwork and to pick his mother up from the depression she’d spiralled into. When he came back it had taken another two weeks to get himself back on track.
But now it was over, he realised as he stepped off the bus. It was over. It was finally over. No more writing, no more editing, no more rethinking and changing and second guessing himself, it was over.
He made a beeline for the kitchen first. Besides the coffee this morning he hadn’t trusted himself to keep anything down, so of course now that he was free, (it was over!) he was famished.
He made himself a sandwich with almost everything he could find in the fridge, then he flicked through the DVR till he found the seemingly endless list of episodes he’d missed, so he settled down to eat his sandwich while he caught up with the last few episodes of Doctor Who.
When he finished the sandwich, he was ready to curl up and sleep forever, even though he still had a few episodes to go. Then he remembered what Erik had said last night about no kissing until he was clean. He gave a heavyhearted sigh and dragged himself to the shower instead. However, he was glad of that decision when he was under the water. He scrubbed away what felt like layers of dirt, and with it went the layers of worry and tension.
He must have stood under the water for much longer than he needed to, until his fingertips wrinkled and he could barely keep his eyes open. He stepped out, wrapped a towel around himself and padded to the bedroom.
He pulled a clean pair of jeans from the closet and put them on, but when he pulled out a shirt something fell out on to the ground. He picked it up and was about to put it back when he caught a hint of cologne. Erik's cologne. He pulled the sweater closer and buried his face in it. It smelled like Erik and happiness and contentment. It smelled like home.
He threw his own shirt back into the closet and slipped Erik's over his head. It was definitely too big for him, the neck going well past what was decent, the hem reaching his mid-thigh and the sleeves completely covering his hands.
He pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. It was too warm for sweaters this time of year but he wasn’t about to take it off any time soon.
He yawned and pulled the sweater closer to himself. Erik should be home soon so he really shouldn’t go to bed no matter how tempting it was. He picked up his long abandoned novel and left for the living room, but all he could see were reference books and piles of papers, so he withdrew to the office.
He couldn’t remember the last time he was here, which was probably how the room had become so distinctly Erik without his even noticing; the desk clear of all clutter, all the things aligned, even the pictures which had made it to the wall were perfectly parallel.
He curled up on the armchair in the corner, pulled the afgan that was lying over the back around him, and opened to where the page was marked. Before long, the words started to blur and swim in front of his eyes. He’d left his reading glasses back in the living room, of course. He could see exactly where they were in his mind’s eye.
He sighed. He was not about to get up to get up them, not when he was so comfortable. He focused on the photos instead, trying to remember when each one was taken. One had them posing in front of a lake at night, their first date. Another had them sitting in a meadow on the grounds of the estate back in England. Charles was busy explaining something, hands in midair while Erik just stared at him.
He couldn’t remember anyone taking the photo, which meant Erik must have done it while Charles wasn’t looking. He smiled despite himself. He couldn’t even remember what he had been so intently explaining at the time. The whole trip was a vague memory, even though it had only been 6 months ago, and what he could remember was nowhere near so picturesque.
He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, so he gave in and closed them. He fell asleep thinking about Erik's intent gaze and Erik's scent and Erik's hands, and how soon he'd get to enjoy all that again, without worries or distractions or anything. He was done.