Peace Offering

[thatnaive]

Charles rubbed his eyes and rolled over to glance at the clock. 2:30 AM. Brilliant. There was no point in continuing to feign sleep. He knew if he tried, Erik's nightmares would only wake him again. His new(ish) friend was staying in the room next to his, and the intensity of his emotions was too much to ignore. It was as though someone were screaming in his ear. It was impossible to block out, and the pain that Erik was obviously going through was distressing the natural mother hen that lurked inside Charles' conscience.

With a quiet groan, he sat up and slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of pajama pants over his boxers. Erik wasn't going to let Charles in that easily. He had to come with a peace offering, so it was to the kitchen that his fuzzy-slipper-enclosed feet led him. Stifling a yawn, Charles rummaged through the cupboards. His first thought was to bring tea, but on second thought, tea just wasn't an option. Instead he felt back around the fridge, fingers closing around a bottle and bringing it towards him. Champagne. Perfect.

Charles picked up two glasses and exited the kitchen before heading back upstairs. He hesitated for a moment at Erik's door, then finally reached out and knocked softly.

"Erik, it's Charles. I know you're awake."

Comments

HE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO, YOU CRAZY PARTIER

[sublifter.livejournal.com]

By the time Charles had gotten to the bottle, it wasn't exactly full, but there was still a substantial amount. Enough for the chugging to be a semi-impressive feat, anyway. What kind of breath control must that take, to purposefully force enough liquid down your throat to the point where you could very well drown if you weren't careful. In any case, it was no mystery as to where he'd picked up the skill.

"It's always encouraging to find out what Oxford educations are good for these days." Erik didn't always mean to be so condescending towards Charles' obvious privilege, but sometimes it just came out, whether jokingly or not.

He rearranged Charles and stood up to fetch himself the hard liquor he'd been promised. He wasn't disappointed by the outcome, as Charles, or whoever bought the lovely bottle of scotch, obviously had good taste.

Grabbing the bottle and the tumbler next to it, he added, "You're not getting a hold of this--there's a special rung in Hell for people who waste good scotch, and I'm not about to let you damn us both."

[I will try my best. ;_;]

ITS JUST LIKE ERIK SAID, THATS WHAT OXFORDS GOOD FOR

[cerebroed.livejournal.com]

Charles smiled rather crookedly at his friend. It's alright, I know you're impressed. He was breathing a little too hard to actually say it out loud.

By the time Erik would return, however, the eccentric and exhausted Brit was curled up on the bed with his eyes closed. Not asleep, no. Just resting. Chugging champagne is hard work, after all.

"Mmm, do have mercy on me," he mumbled.

XP

[sublifter.livejournal.com]

Erik honestly had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he supposed it didn't really matter at three in the morning. Shaking his head, he took the few strides back, wondering just how much of lightweight someone had to be to be nearly passed out just from drinking champagne.

"Too late. You brought it on yourself, Charles." Was there a point in teasing someone who was only half coherent? Probably not, but that didn't make it any less amusing.

For a few moments he stood next to the bed, wondering if it would be better if he just picked Charles up and put him in bed before drinking himself into a light sleep, or if Charles was just being over dramatic and he'd be able to totter down the hallway by himself later. It was about time for Charles to head on out if he was just going to lie around and take up bed space, but Erik didn't really feel incredibly inclined to move him and disturb what could be the only time in history that Charles wasn't spouting long sentences about the good of mankind or groovy mutations. As used to them as he'd grown, it was always nice to have a break.

[cerebroed.livejournal.com]

Charles flopped over onto his back and scooted closer to the bedframe before patting the mattress beside him in an obvious 'there's room for you here' motion.

Stifling a yawn, he reached out expectantly for the bottle. "I hope you're planning on sharing my scotch with me."

Please. He could keep going for a few more hours. Charles was a professional partier. After all, there were other benefits to a university than just the education.

[sublifter.livejournal.com]

"Not at the moment."

Slightly amused at the fact that Charles was the one who'd barged in here, taken over his bed, and was now inviting him back onto it, he sat where the man had indicated that he should be.

He sat quietly for a few moments, finally processing what they'd just been through, what Charles went through every day without complaint. He felt everything that went on around him and never complained, even though it only built up on top of what he'd been through personally. Privileged, Charles may be, but sheltered, he was not.

"How do you do it, Charles." A question that sounded more like a statement, as usual. He was too used to telling people what was going on to be able to express confusion.

[cerebroed.livejournal.com]

Charles was silent for a few moments, his outstretched hand dropping down to his side. After a moment he sat back up, facing away from his friend.

"I'm not sure, honestly," he said after a moment, chuckling humorlessly. "I've had to since childhood. It's just second nature now."

He sighed softly, rubbing his head. He could feel a headache coming on.

Charles winced suddenly, pressing a hand to his temples. He hated nightmares. Not his nightmares, it had been some time since he'd been the one dreaming, but the nightmares of everyone else around him.

"Hank," he murmured, almost inaudibly.