[ Erik looks at him before his whole body seems to shudder, pulling at the crumbling bits and drawing back in on itself. Running a shaking hand through his hair, easing it back, Erik then stands. His fingers flex slightly, like he wants to reach out, but won't.

Quietly. ] Look at what I make you, Charles, look at us. All the care and affection in the world and I still push you and wound you. What kind of life is that? Why would anyone want that?