Sugar and Knives

Charles hadn't seen his old friend in five years and he was completely fine with it. Totally and utterly. Except that he wasn't.

Every night, Charles would drink himself into a stupor, until rational thinking subsided. He would then clamber into his cold, uninviting four poster bed and think of how Erik used to occupy it with his sprawling limbs. The night would end with the professor sobbing himself to sleep. Always.

So when the lanky brunette showed up at his doorstep, begging for a place to stay, it was no surprise that Charles immediately settled him back into the mansion.

"This will be alright for you then?" The shorter brunette asked as he patted the bed. "I'll be right across the hall if you...need anything."

Erik simply nodded, giving no explanation as to why he was there or what fell through. Charles walked back to his room, knowing that the words would come later. They always did with him.

The professor collapsed onto the bed, bittersweet about his old friends arrival. He hoped it would bring comfort before the pain. Erik would ultimately leave. He always did.

Charles did not drink that night. Not one drop. He just cried himself to sleep harder than ever. Melancholy coursed through his veins, sharper than knives and sweeter than sugar.