let's go to war to make peace,

[atthemercyof]

[ Locked to oldcardigans ]

[ Erik would be something nonchalant if not for the way he stands just beyond the front steps, arms crossed over his chest, gaze slanted at Agent MacTaggert. Her departing pleasantries are more directed at Charles, because Erik very clearly excudes distrust, and even distaste, to any of the Suits. But that doesn't mean his presence is not very much there. The conversation through the night weights itself down at the back of his mind. Too many people are showing an interest now, invasive little questions that get passed off as pleasantries from someone Charles trusts.

Erik sometimes wonders if Charles would just let the government steamroll right on other him. He hopes MacTaggert knows Erik won't allow that as long as he's here.

He tips his head a fraction in acknowledgement of her goodbyes, lifts his gaze skyward slightly, because there's something ticking away in the house tonight, a static kind of unease that crawls under his skin. It's a bit like the dark roll of sky just before a storm as dark eyes follow the movement of the man in front of him. ] Well?

Comments

[oldcardigans]

Then you know my mind. [ He nods uselessly anyway, the confirmation giving him what small ease it will while he struggles through his insides to come up with anything compelling enough to keep Erik here.

What strength he finds is used to pull his thoughts fully out of Erik's, left floating in terrible emptiness. Holding on is driving him on faster, so Charles' grip is slackened with little flair or display, so that they can both imagine that choices were made that they were at peace with. Charles would laugh if he wouldn't fall to pieces first. ]

[atthemercyof]

[ It hurts, he didn't expect the pain or the horrifying, crashing loneliness with Charles out of his mind, how empty and dark his thoughts are without the other man trickling away at the back, smoothing over the scars. Erik's expression remains careful, locking away how quickly his stomach turns, how much he doesn't want this. But it's too late, and he's a wonderful liar, will pretend it is for the best to hide them away from the howling wind.

He twists his hand, uncuffs Charles' bracelet like it's setting him free, turns on his heel without another word to leave the room. ]

[oldcardigans]

[ The bracelet goes limp in Charles' hand, but it spends all of several anguishing seconds splayed between his fingers before he panics and clips the catch back on, sinking into his seat with nothing more than a breathy noise. Fingers buried in his hair, he forgets to say a word or look over his shoulder. ]