Charles smiles frequently. Erik notes this, in the way he notes how Charles moves, the quickness of his gestures, the enthusiasm with which he throws himself at new people, new projects. Smiling, most of the time, while he does so.
Observing Charles isn’t something he’d intended to make into a habit, but Erik finds himself lingering in doorways, gazing down at the top of Charles’ head where he kneels to adjust a slipped shim under a table lamp, or attempting to find a baking pan in the mansion’s large kitchen. To Erik, it’s more of a castle, grand and foreboding and lifeless, the sense of it like an abandoned ruin despite its clean and well-kept structure. But somehow, the sparse inhabitants - not the invisible staff who maintain the wide lawns and gardens, who dust the spacious corridors and vasty depths of the manor without ever seeming to notice the oddities of tits inhabitants - but the man like Erik, gifted with an ability far beyond that of most of humanity, and the children Erik and Charles have collected and brought here - the tiny group of them bring life to sterile, empty rooms, send laughter ringing against chandeliers and high ceilings, shout and run and eat and play like nothing has ever hurt them.
Resilient, Erik thinks, but unprepared for true horror. Shaw and his men destroyed a facility, killed men before the young people, and even forced one of them to destroy himself. But the rest were scared, not hurt. And they don’t know what war is.
“No one knows,” Charles says from behind his shoulder, overlooking the field where Alex and Raven and Hank and Sean are practicing at a makeshift gun range with Moira. “No one knows war until they’ve experienced it.”
“I’ve asked you–”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but you were thinking quite forcefully.”
Charles steps forward beside Erik. Their elbows brush on the wide stone railing. “My ability naturally reaches outward, Erik, just as yours does. If you have to make an effort to not sense and manipulate the metal near you, do you think it takes any less effort for me to not sense the thoughts of people around me?”
“Can you sense war, in my thoughts?” The warmth of Charles’ arm against his is enough to soften the hard line of Erik’s mouth.
“I’ve no need to read your thoughts about war. I’ve seen it, lived through it, and have no desire ever to experience that chaos and waste of life ever again.” Fingers tightening on the grey stone, Charles leans over it to shout: “Alex, please do not take potshots at the satellite dish!”
“Yes,” he says, turning to meet Erik’s disbelieving stare. “I served. I know what it is to kill a man. I know what it is to feel a man die at my hands.” He looks at them, broad and square and smaller than Erik’s, and Erik wants to cover them with his own. “So you can see, perhaps, why I found it disturbing to point a gun at you, my friend.”
“I suppose,” Erik replies, and takes Charles’ elbow in his hand. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?”
“Later, after training?” A warm blue gaze meets Erik’s. How can this man’s eyes dance and make the promises they do, when they have seen war and death, as Erik would have never believed, would never have imagined - and the facts of which Erik will extract over Charles’ fine liquor in Charles’ fine castle while playing chess with Charles’ fine antique set.
Erik breathes deeply and inhales the scent of Charles’ hair, mussed from racing Hank again, and the scent of his sweat, still faintly pearled behind his ears, where the hairs curl damply. “Later,” he echoes, and lets Charles go.
There were certainly days when she wanted to knock him out with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball and pin him to a piece of foam core, his trench coat flapping out like wings. “Muldicerus Foxendrum, FBI Agent, native to the American northeast.”
Summary: Several glasses of lemonade, a jar full of promises and ten years of loving Kyungsoo later, Jongin grows to hate the label ‘friend’.
Comments: uh so this is actually my story /sweats nervously/. I have no comment other than the fact It’s my childhoodfriends!au I’ve been wanting to write for a while :D Also, it’s based off the f(x) song goodbye summer. Yup.
Summary: there’s a huge secret over at sm high that no one knows and it’s this: sm high’s resident hot, sexy bad boy, leader of the infamous delinquent gang, exo, kris wu, is dating the student council’s president, kim joonmyeon.
He thinks of the dozens of books he has on the cosmos, the hundreds of articles he’s read on star clusters and galaxies, and how he wants to show them to her, wants to pour over them together until they find a constellation that is Scully, until he knows the map of her. Marijuana makes him awfully poetic, he thinks.