“Why do you like me?” Charles repeats, wide-eyed and earnest, and does not look away when Erik stares at him, mouth set in a determined line. “I mean, of all the people in all the world, I’m forced upon you by my sister and you just happen to lo- like me. It just seems…”
It’s like having his foot caught in a trap; Erik does not know what to say, how to articulate something he does not understand himself. He is eloquent at other times, he knows, and is not falsely modest about it. But something about Charles is disarming, tongue-tying and disconcerting, and he feels like a stumbling idiot, trying to put his feelings for Charles into words. “It’s not about… this,” he says, gesturing at the room around them, meaning this, this apartment, Charles’ confinement and Erik’s part in that, what he will not think of as his control of that. “I could have put you somewhere else a thousand times over, Charles, if I didn’t… I’ve said so before, to you. But. It’s better when you’re here.”
Charles leans forward, just a little, enough that his hair falls forward into his eyes and he has to reach up to push it back, watching Erik’s face like he expects to find something there. “Better than what?”
And that one is easy. “Than before you were here,” Erik says, and gestures around them again. “Somehow, you make me… I’m a difficult person. I sometimes think I’m like a - chestnut?”
“A conker?” Charles asks, with just a hint of humour.
“With the - the spiny casing,” Erik says, moving his palms in together as though cupping something rounded, hoping they’re thinking of the same thing.
Charles is definitely trying not to smile, now, despite himself. His mouth is twitching, like he’s fighting hard to keep it a straight line. “Are you saying you’re spiky on the outside and nutty on the inside?”
“Forget it,” Erik mutters, glowering at the crushed stem of the moon until it snaps back into the shape he’d intended.
When Charles takes his hand he almost pulls away, but he doesn’t, quite, lets Charles catch their fingers together and hold his hand still, tugging until Erik looks back up to meet his eyes, softer now. “No, I’m sorry, what were you going to say.”
“It’s not about the - our situation,” Erik says, even though he’d rather just get up and abandon the conversation so he could stop feeling awkward. “Don’t think that. I just - you make me - happy. Alright?”
There is an odd expression on Charles’ face, startled and flustered and worried, maybe, but over all of that a slow-blooming sweet smile, made sweeter by the flush that rises to his pale cheeks. It makes Erik’s lungs catch on an inhale, hitching on an upswell of unbearable ardour and affection and embarrassment, and in the moment of respiratory failure his heart thuds hard against the inside of his ribcage. It’s uncomfortable and he hides it by turning his gaze sharply away and back to the metal on his desk, though he is electrically aware of Charles to his side, and when Charles gets up from his chair and comes to wrap his arms around Erik’s shoulders, leaning his forehead against Erik’s temple, pressing in close, it’s easier to show him what he means by turning to press his lips to the corner of Charles’ eye, gently, Charles’ eyelashes fluttering against Erik’s skin and fingers curling in Erik’s shirt.
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 139/?
It’s like having his foot caught in a trap; Erik does not know what to say, how to articulate something he does not understand himself. He is eloquent at other times, he knows, and is not falsely modest about it. But something about Charles is disarming, tongue-tying and disconcerting, and he feels like a stumbling idiot, trying to put his feelings for Charles into words. “It’s not about… this,” he says, gesturing at the room around them, meaning this, this apartment, Charles’ confinement and Erik’s part in that, what he will not think of as his control of that. “I could have put you somewhere else a thousand times over, Charles, if I didn’t… I’ve said so before, to you. But. It’s better when you’re here.”
Charles leans forward, just a little, enough that his hair falls forward into his eyes and he has to reach up to push it back, watching Erik’s face like he expects to find something there. “Better than what?”
And that one is easy. “Than before you were here,” Erik says, and gestures around them again. “Somehow, you make me… I’m a difficult person. I sometimes think I’m like a - chestnut?”
“A conker?” Charles asks, with just a hint of humour.
“With the - the spiny casing,” Erik says, moving his palms in together as though cupping something rounded, hoping they’re thinking of the same thing.
Charles is definitely trying not to smile, now, despite himself. His mouth is twitching, like he’s fighting hard to keep it a straight line. “Are you saying you’re spiky on the outside and nutty on the inside?”
“Forget it,” Erik mutters, glowering at the crushed stem of the moon until it snaps back into the shape he’d intended.
When Charles takes his hand he almost pulls away, but he doesn’t, quite, lets Charles catch their fingers together and hold his hand still, tugging until Erik looks back up to meet his eyes, softer now. “No, I’m sorry, what were you going to say.”
“It’s not about the - our situation,” Erik says, even though he’d rather just get up and abandon the conversation so he could stop feeling awkward. “Don’t think that. I just - you make me - happy. Alright?”
There is an odd expression on Charles’ face, startled and flustered and worried, maybe, but over all of that a slow-blooming sweet smile, made sweeter by the flush that rises to his pale cheeks. It makes Erik’s lungs catch on an inhale, hitching on an upswell of unbearable ardour and affection and embarrassment, and in the moment of respiratory failure his heart thuds hard against the inside of his ribcage. It’s uncomfortable and he hides it by turning his gaze sharply away and back to the metal on his desk, though he is electrically aware of Charles to his side, and when Charles gets up from his chair and comes to wrap his arms around Erik’s shoulders, leaning his forehead against Erik’s temple, pressing in close, it’s easier to show him what he means by turning to press his lips to the corner of Charles’ eye, gently, Charles’ eyelashes fluttering against Erik’s skin and fingers curling in Erik’s shirt.