After that first night, Charles did not see Mr Lehnsherr a lot for the next few days; he caught glimpses of the imposing man every now and then when they passed each other in the halls, but they didn't utter anything more than brief 'hellos' or 'good days' when they passed.

Charles was not bothered by it, at least, that was what he told himself. Charles did not think himself fanciful, not in the way that Cain enjoyed stories about made-up monsters and magic. However, Charles had thought that there was something between him and Mr Lehnsherr, something pulling them together that was greater than just a wage of 30 pounds a year.

But maybe Charles had been a bit fanciful – they were an employer and employee, and nothing more than that. Brief 'hellos' and 'good days' were adequate for what they were.

So, it came as a surprise to Charles, when Moira came knocking on the door to his chambers one evening after dinner, almost looking nervous as she told him 'Mr Lehnsherr requests your company in the drawing room'.

Moira hadn't asked Charles to change his clothes this time, already resigned to the fact that Charles simply did not have any more clothes.

Charles soon found himself hastily bounding down the stairs to the drawing room, his heart thumping in anticipation when he eyed the glow of firelight from under the door. It was eerie the way Mr Lehnsherr called out his name the moment the metal hinge of the door squeaked when Charles laid his hand upon it, his head turning from where he sat on the same arm chair as the other night.

This time, Moira wasn't in the room, and neither was Peter. Apart from the man in the chair, there was only Magneto, his dog. Magneto, now less mangy after Moira had given him a wash, yipped happily when Charles entered the room from where he lay by his master's feet.

When Charles walked over to the seated master of the house, he was surprised when the older man held out a glass of wine, jerking his head towards it to urge Charles to take it. He did, and nestled himself in the chair opposite Mr Lehnsherr, who sipped at his own wine, coolly regarding Charles.

"Were you expecting a present?" Mr Lehnsherr suddenly asked, and Charles blinked at him, confused at the abrupt and incongruous question.

"Sir?" Charles asked quizzically, Mr Lehnsherr smirking.

"A present. Peter, that little beast, asked me the other day if I brought 'Herr Charles' a present back from my travels. So, tell me, does 'Herr Charles' expect a present?" Mr Lehnsherr explained, and Charles swallowed at the way his employer's tongue wrapped around the sounds of his name. It was then that Charles truly realised that the man had the slight lilt of an accent, a little German but mixed with other things. It was not surprising, considering the man spent more of his time abroad than in England.

"Of course not," Charles said, almost snorting at the notion of his employer buying him a present in a gaudy box like the one he brought back for Peter. Mr Lehnsherr laughed at Charles's response, sipping his wine as Charles did the same.

"Not fond of presents, Herr Charles?" Mr Lehnsherr said, the more he repeated Peter's name for his tutor making Charles think that the man was beginning to insult him, though the smile on his face was more teasing than outright mocking.

"I wouldn't know," Charles said, looking down at the rug beneath his feet, before tilting his gaze back up, a small grin on his naturally red lips. "But I do believe that they are generally thought to be pleasant things... Herr Lehnsherr."

Mr Lehnsherr almost, almost, choked on his wine at that, eyes looking Charles over with amusement, the pale blue irises seeming warmer than they usually were. Charles felt a little giddy as a warm flush overcame him at the expression on Mr Lehnsherr's face, but he put that down to the wine – Charles hadn't had much experience with alcohol, never having a chance to drink it at Graymalkin. He did not mind the slightly acidic taste, but he always equated alcohol with his mother, and that left a bitter flavour in his mouth.

"Herr Lehnsherr," the older man repeated, grimacing. "Don't call me that, you sound like the boy, and you can probably tell, I am not too fond of children."

'Then why take one in at all, if you dislike them?' Charles pondered silently, smiling at Mr Lehnsherr's words, not finding them sincerely harsh. Even though Mr Lehnsherr did not show it like most people, he did hold some sort of affection and care for Peter – he was concerned enough about Peter's education to employ Charles, and to keep tabs on how Peter's education was progressing. And even if he complained, he had gone out of his way to bring Peter gifts back from his travels. It was more than any of Charles's parents ever did for him.

"Then I'd ask you to stop calling me Herr Charles too," Charles responded in turn, Mr Lehnsherr's brow going up.

"Just Charles, then," Mr Lehnsherr said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and Charles sucked in a deep breath, heart lurching in his ribcage.

"If that pleases you," Charles pushed out, eyes dropping from Mr Lehnsherr's and down to his half-finished cup of wine. "I am your paid subordinate, you can call me what you wish."

"Paid subordinate?" Mr Lehnsherr echoed, almost incredulous. "You've hardly been speaking to me as such, and I've already forgotten your salary. But on that ground, will you consent to letting me call you Charles, so that we may speak as equals?"

Charles looked back up at Mr Lehnsherr now, mouth opened in surprise. Mr Lehnsherr seemed to put him in that state quite a lot – surprised, on uneven footing, but not at all caring about how he stumbled. Charles felt like Mr Lehnsherr had opened up some sort of trap door beneath his feet, and he wasn't sure if he was scared or exhilarated by the free fall.

"We are not equals if you are allowed to call me Charles, while I call you Herr Lehnsherr," Charles said, chest fluttering with bravery. Mr Lehnsherr did not seem offended, but his mouth twitched before he threw back the remainder of the amber liquid in his glass, swallowing. Charles watched the bob of his throat that peeked out from his high-collared shirt and dark red, almost magenta, neck tie.

Mr Lehnsherr put his emptied glass down on the table beside them, leaning forwards.

"Well, Charles," Mr Lehnsherr said, smiling around Charles's name. "As equals, you can call me Erik."

"If you so wish, Erik," Charles said, the man letting out a 'humph' with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair. The two of them shared a smile, before falling into silence as the fire flickered and waned.

After a few minutes of silence, Erik spoke again, reclining in his chair in comfort.

"Speak to me, Charles," Erik said, and it was Charles's turn to quirk up an eyebrow. Erik just grinned with lots of teeth, tilting head invitingly. "Distract me from the mire of my thoughts."

"You are awfully demanding, as always, Erik," Charles said in direct reference to what he said along the roadside, rolling his eyes as Erik snickered, shrugging.

"Force of habit. The others that live here..." Erik said, waving his hand with a shrug, before looking into Charles's blue eyes. "Well, none of them are quite like you." There was something in Erik's gaze that made Charles jerk in his chair, his freckled cheeks growing warm.

"What do you want to talk about?" Charles said quickly, Erik smirking before looking around the room. His eyes fell onto a barely touched chess set he had brought back from France some time ago, but never had the opportunity to use. There had been no one for him to play with during his short stays at Ironfield; Moira was too afraid of him, Alex and Scott were not bright enough, and there was no way he would play with Angel or Anna-Marie.

"Do you play, Charles?" Erik asked, gesturing to the chess set, gaudy and so very French. Charles nodded, seeming to brighten a bit, and Erik smiled. "Then let us play."

Erik began to stand to fetch the chess set, but Charles stopped him, murmuring something about 'resting his injured leg'. Erik responded by reminding Charles that he caused the injury by spooking his horse, Charles just sending him a withering look as he bounded over on his shorter legs to grab the chess set. While Charles moved some furniture around, bringing the chairs closer and the table tighter between them, Erik threw another log onto the waning fire.

By the time Erik had finished stoking the fire, Charles had almost finished setting up the pieces. Charles also poured Erik another glass of wine, which made the older man smirk.

"Don't think you can best me without plying me with drink, Charles?" Erik said goadingly, the younger man snorting while pushing his white pawn out to begin the game. Before Erik could reach for his wine, Charles took it from the table and placed it on the floor out of Erik's reach.

"I am confident in my abilities, whether you are inebriated or the contrary," Charles replied, leaning back in his chair.

Erik just hummed in response, and for most of the game, they did not talk much. Erik sometimes asked Charles about his life in Graymalkin, and he supplied concise answers. Erik inquired about his family again, and Charles niftily shied away from that conversation, but did talk a little about how he had someone he considered a sister, once, but also how that person was taken from him prematurely.

Charles was delighted to find that Erik was a mean chess player, and they were very evenly matched throughout the entire game. When Charles made a spectacular move, he would observe Erik's flicker of awed surprise that would pass over his face, before his brow would furrow and his hand would come to his chin, deep in thought about his next move.

Charles stared at Erik now, as the older man ran a finger over his lip as he hovered his other hand over a knight. Charles's gaze followed the movement of Erik's finger, slightly wrinkled and calloused with wear, wondering what sensations those fingertips were feeling as they rubbed against Erik's bottom lip.

Charles was startled when Erik's eyes suddenly lifted off the chessboard into his, burning brighter than the fire beside them. Erik moved his knight without glancing down, the thunk of the piece on the ornate wooden board deafening.

"Your gaze is very direct, Charles," Erik said, and Charles flushed at being caught staring. "Do you think me handsome?"

'Oh, Christ,' Charles muttered silently, eyes dropping down to the chessboard, pretending to think about his next move but unable to gather his thoughts.

"You are handsome, for a man," Charles muttered, haphazardly moving his bishop.

"For a man," Erik echoed, moving his queen now, before lacing his fingers together and leaning on the table in front of them. "Then what about for a woman? What would you consider handsome for a woman, Charles?"

Charles flushed pink, and he peeked up at Erik expecting him to tease him about his virginal response, only to find him staring at Charles with a serious expression etched onto his face, waiting for Charles to respond. Charles floundered, mouth moving up and down, before he stammered something out.

"Well, Moira – I mean, Mrs MacTaggert, is a very handsome woman," Charles said, Erik's eyes narrowing slightly. "I, uh, would believe that a woman with her appearance would generally be thought very... handsome."

"She is a little aged for you though, isn't she, Charles?" Erik said, now smiling a little when the tips of Charles's ears turned bright red. "She's a widower approaching 35. You are what, 18?"

Charles's mind unhelpfully reminded him that Erik, too, was around 35.

"Age is of no consequence to me," Charles said quickly, Erik's expression growing serious once again, his eyes hot as they trekked over Charles's face. "As... as is appearance. I value what's in here," Charles continued, pointing with two fingers to his temple to signify the mind. "And in here." Charles then let his hand lower, pressing his palm to his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.

Erik did not respond, and just stared at Charles silently, as if thinking to himself. Charles longed for the ability to take a peek into Erik's mind, one that he was beginning to find quite fascinating, but-

'Unnatural child,' Charles heard in his mind, Kurt Marko's voice echoing around the Red Room.

Erik then moved his chess piece, quietly saying 'check'. Charles made his own move, the conversation dwindling, before Charles was able to check Erik in return. Charles found his footing again when Erik let out a huff and a begrudging 'good move', the younger man leaning back in his chair gloatingly, about to win the game.

"Should you not let me win, Charles? We are equals, but I am still your employer," Erik said, teasing tone again evident in his voice.

"You haven't paid me to let you win yet, Erik," Charles countered, the older man grinning again with too many teeth. "And besides, I would never submit myself to letting someone win. Even for a salary."

Erik regarded Charles again, his shark-like grin drawing more tender, before tipping over his king in defeat.

"Checkmate," Erik said on behalf of Charles, reaching his hand across the board. "I shake hands with you, for your skill."

Charles smiled back, reaching out to clasp Erik's hand, whose returning grip was firm and hot. Their hands slotted together tightly, and Charles thought that, for a second, Erik's thumb drew a circle on the back of his palm.

But as quickly as the touch came, Erik soon drew back, retiring for the evening. When Charles lay in bed that night, he held his palm in the air, before closing it into a tight fist and pressing it against his mouth, willing himself to calm his unsteady heart.

Unnatural child.

***

Charles laughed aloud as Peter darted towards the shuttlecock, as nimble as always. He hit the shuttlecock back towards Charles, who was nowhere as light on his feet as the young boy, the feathered ball dropping to the grass. Moira and Alex clapped for Peter as he ran around the small patch of grass in a victory lap, before he was hoisted up by Alex for some afternoon tea on the porch overlooking the gardens they had been playing on.

Moira followed on after the two of them, calling out to Peter about how he needed to retie his laces, as Charles bent down to pick up the discarded shuttlecock. As he did so, he felt eyes searing into his back, and he turned to find Erik looking at him from atop a set of stone stairs.

It had been about a week since their first night playing chess in the drawing room, and since then it had become a nightly occurrence. Moira no longer had to tell Charles that Erik had requested his presence in the brightly-lit room, Charles always heading there after supper, and Erik always waiting there with the chess set unpacked and their chairs bunched together tightly.

Charles couldn't help the way his heart clenched whenever Erik drew near, even when he knew it was wrong. Charles had always known that something was off about him; at Graymalkin, he had never fancied any of the female pupils sitting across the room unlike all of the other boys. Some of the boys had teased him about liking Raven, but the thought disgusted him; it was not entirely due to the fact that he considered Raven a sister, but also because the thought of liking a girl in that manner made him feel unsettled.

Charles had been young during his days at Graymalkin, so he did not let himself consternate on the idea too much. There was hardly time to think about anything like that at all, with classes starting from dawn and Charles being too drained from the long day to think about much before his head hit the scratchy straw pillow.

But now, in Ironfield Hall where Charles felt safe, where he was able to enjoy moments of leisure and with someone like Erik loitering the halls, Charles had begun thinking about that again.

Charles knew that he was attracted to Erik, even if he never admitted it aloud. Deep down, he knew that what he felt for the older man went beyond that of the feelings of an employee to a kind employer. What he felt went even further than the bonds of friendship and of brotherhood.

Charles knew it was wrong, but he could not help it, not when Erik looked at him with such heat in his eyes. He couldn't see Erik in a platonic light, not when Erik called them equals and called his name, 'Charles', in that rich timbre, like he was saying much more than just his name. Charles couldn't help the swell of desire that rose up from his gut when Erik would grow hot under the heat radiating from the fire, shrugging off his coat and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong and smooth forearms.

Charles couldn't help it, but he could push it down, far enough so that it didn't spill everywhere.

Erik now descended the garden stairs devoid of a coat. His checked waistcoat was a mixed brown shade, and the glint of a gold pocket watch shone at his waist. It was a warm day outside, so Erik had rolled up his sleeves as he helped some of the gardeners load, unlike Charles who was perpetually cold.

"God help me," Charles muttered to himself as Erik approached him, his locks appearing lighter in the sun. His hair was usually neatly combed to the side, but today it was slightly dishevelled from yard work, giving the man a more rugged look. Erik had a small smile on his face as he stopped in front of Charles, towering over his shorter stature and blocking out the sun.

"The little beast was running circles around you," Erik said, chuckling a little as he flicked his finger at the shuttlecock in Charles's hands.

"He is an active young boy, I am but a scholar," Charles defended himself, feigning offence by blowing some of his unruly, floppy hair from his face. Erik laughed at that, the sound carrying through the garden, Moira looking at them with an expression that could only be classified as disbelief.

Peter, seeing his favourite tutor and his favourite person standing together, yelled out "Herr Lehnsherr, Herr Charles!" whilst waving at the two of them from his seat, the sweet preserve slathered on his scones dripping onto his vest. Moira scolded him as she hurriedly wiped the mess away, the boy not seeming to care as he licked his jam-coated fingers, before waving at the two men again.

"He's the son of a German opera singer, Magda Eisenhardt," Erik explained without any prompting from Charles as the two of them looked at the rambunctious boy. Erik turned away from him first, looking back at Charles, who felt his gaze hot on his profile.

"She was a beauty," Erik continued, still staring at Charles. "And she professed to love me, with great ardour. I loved her, too."

Charles's gaze snapped to meet Erik's then, his heart twinging with a moment of pain, chest tight. Erik seemed to like Charles's response, his thin lips curving upwards before he turned, pressing a hand to the small of Charles's back, nudging him back towards the stairs. Charles stumbled beside him, hyperaware of the heat blossoming from Erik's hand on his back, even through all of the layers of fabric that he wore.

"I was a fool, really," Erik said as they climbed the steps slowly, Charles fiddling with the shuttlecock still in his hands. Erik noticed his preoccupation with the little item, plucking it from his fingers as they reached the top of the stairs and placing it on a flat plane of one of the stone banisters.

"A fool?" Charles asked, leaning against the stone of the step barriers, crossing his arms over his chest, almost like the action would protect his heart as Erik edged closer to stand beside him. Charles could feel Erik's arm brush against his. To others, they looked like two men having a chat while standing side-by-side; to Charles, he was all too aware of their close proximity, and how Erik's breath sometimes drifted through his hair when he turned to talk to him.

"Yes, a fool," Erik said, smiling wryly. "I showered her with silks and jewels, because I loved her."

"You were a fool for falling in love?" Charles asked, frowning. Something about his expression, or the confusion in his smooth voice was amusing to Erik, and he let out a short laugh.

"You have never felt jealousy before, have you, Charles?" Erik asked, voice dropping lowly, and Charles swallowed nervously. Charles was still young, compared to Erik. When Charles was born, Erik would have been around 17 years of age, only slightly younger than how old Charles was now. Some men would have been married by that age, while Charles was still sucking on his mother's teat. Charles did not know of these things, about how it felt to love.

When Charles did not answer, Erik let out a sigh, smiling to himself.

"Of course you haven't. You've never fallen in love," Erik continued, Charles growing still beside him. "You are lucky, Charles. You are young, and you have never felt love. But in turn, you have never been hurt by it."

"And you have?" Charles asked, glancing up at Erik, before looking back down again. Charles listened as he kept his eyes trained on Peter, Alex and Moira, who were talking inaudibly down below.

"Magda and I, it ended when I caught her with a... handsome, Russian lover," Erik said, bitterness seeping into his tone as he spoke of his ex-lover, before jerking his head towards Peter, who had now taken to running around the yard while Moira yelled that he was going to put his stomach into fits after eating so much and exerting himself too quickly after.

"I sent her money to support the little beast, which she swore was mine. In your eye, do you think that we share any features?" Erik said, Charles looking at the boy's pale hair. On instinct, Charles would have said no based on the hair alone, but sometimes he thought he did see a few glimmers of Erik's striking nose or high cheekbones in the young boy, so it was hard to tell.

"Should it matter?" Charles spoke, Erik turning to face him fully now, resting one hand on the banister behind Charles's back. Erik remained silent, his curved brow signalling Charles to keep going, to speak his mind. Charles cleared his throat and continued.

"Whether he is of your blood or not, you treat him as if he is your own. You care for him, even if you call him a 'little beast', and you provide him a safe and loving home, leaving him wanting for nothing. He thinks of you like you are his father, and whether or not those features on his face are yours or from... from a Russian or a Frenchman or an Englishman, it does not matter. Love..." Charles said, chest heaving a little, his fists clenching tightly. "Love is more than blood."

Like how Charles and Raven loved each other, and were siblings even if they did not share the same blood. Charles knew that Peter loved Erik, and probably even Charles too. Charles believed that Erik was capable of loving the boy, even if he did not care to show it.

"So love conquers even the vast chasms of blood," Erik said as a breeze blew through the trees behind them. Some leaves were rustled from their branches, and one landed on the crown of Charles's head. Erik reached out, fingers lingering a little too long between strands of Charles's rich brown hair, before eventually flicking the leaf from his head. "But what of romantic love?"

"Romantic love?"

"Yes, romantic love. You seem to believe that familial love conquers all barriers. Does that naïve notion of yours extend to romantic love?" Erik asked, eyes searching Charles's, trying to draw out his deepest thoughts and desires, the ones that Charles kept clamped down with the self-control he had been trying to build from his infancy.

Charles couldn't seem to form an answer, Erik eventually realising that Charles could not give him one and taking a step back. Erik grabbed the shuttlecock from the atop the banister, pressing it back into Charles's hands, his fingers brushing across the eighteen-year-old's palm.

"Think about it, Charles," Erik said, before turning to head back to the mansion. "An inexperienced boy like you, I suppose it is understandable for you to be so naïve."

***

Charles lay in his bed at Ironfield Hall, and the night was quiet. Too quiet. It was almost surreal how quiet it was, the only sound being Charles's breath as he stared up at the ceiling. The four posters at the corners of his bed cast the shadow of a cross against the wall, the moonlight silvery and waxen.

Charles felt restless, and he turned to his side, back against the door he kept locked at night. His sheets felt thin for some reason this night, and Charles shivered, curling his arms into himself to try and trap his heat.

He kept measured breaths as he tried to sleep, but a sound from behind him made his shut eyes fly open. Charles sucked in a breath, as the lock to his door clicked open – how was that possible? It was locked at Moira was the only one with a key. Moira would not visit his rooms in the middle of the night, not when the moon was up so high.

With some phantom-like power, the lock gave way, the door opening with an ominous creek. Charles stilled in his bed, clutching the blankets tighter over his bare shoulders.

Bare shoulders?

Charles gasped as he peered down at himself in the dark; it was not only his shoulders that were bare, his under shirt missing entirely. Charles was completely bare apart from the dark hair trailing down from his lower stomach to his manhood. Something was wrong. Charles never went to bed nude, and his body seemed lethargic, like it was not quite his own.

The young man almost cried out when he heard footsteps approaching him. For some reason, Charles could not move; the window in his room was open, white curtains billowing out with a gust of cold wind. The footsteps edged closer, and Charles clamped a hand over his mouth when he felt the bed dip behind him, the ghost of a breath brushing over his turned cheek.

"Charles," the voice called, and the eighteen-year-old let out a startled squeak at the familiar voice.

"Erik?" Charles breathed, wanting to turn to see the man, but his body not complying. Charles shook as hands, rough with callouses and age like they had been when they brushed Charles's hand on the garden steps, pressed against Charles's pale shoulder.

Erik's hand was hot as it trailed down his body, pushing the thin blankets from his body and exposing him to the chill, but for once, Charles was not cold. No, his body was like a furnace, fire thrumming under his skin that still became speckled with goosebumps under Erik's touch.

Charles felt Erik's warm breath hit the back of his neck, the hairs there standing erect. Charles let out an unfamiliar sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, when Erik pressed his mouth against the skin there, his hand sliding down to cup Charles's hip.

"Dear God," Charles gasped out, Erik's hands caressing his thigh as his mouth moved down to the slope of his shoulder. "We can't do this. Erik, this is wrong. We can't-"

Suddenly, Erik's hands stopped, and Charles suddenly felt cold.

"Is that your answer then, Charles?" his voice asked, devoid of the warm touch that usually tinged it when he spoke to Charles, no longer curved with the slope of a hidden smile.

"What?"

"So you do not think that love conquers all, in the end," Erik said, ignoring Charles. The weight on his bed lifted, and Charles's static body was suddenly mobile, as if the lead ties that anchored his arms and legs had been released. Charles's body twisted around to look at Erik, but he only found that there was no one there. Charles's heart rabbited in his chest.

"Erik!" Charles cried out, sitting up in bed just as-

Charles suddenly sprung up, his hands clamouring at his shoulders and chest, feeling fabric there. His blue eyes were wide open, frantically searching the room; the four-poster bed was the same, but the shadow the posts cast was not a cross, but an alternative criss-crossed pattern. His window was not open, and dark green curtains hung still and heavy against the obscured glass. His door was still closed, and Charles was sure that it was locked.

Most of all, Charles was clothed like he usually was, the fabric of his night shirt damp under his trembling finger tips.

"Oh God," Charles breathed out, his breath shaky, chest heaving. Charles closed his eyes tightly, feeling them beginning to dampen, as he tried to still his erratic breaths.

Charles could still feel the phantom touch of the Erik from his dream, the feeling of calloused fingers too vivid, the searing heat of Erik's breath on his neck making Charles feel sick. Charles pushed the blankets off him, drawing his knees to his chest before hugging them to him, clawing at his thighs as if he were slapping away the feeling of Erik's fingers gripping the meat there.

Unnatural child.

"God help me, please," Charles shuddered out, looking up to the ceiling and beyond.

Charles knew he would not be able to sleep any more that night, and pulled himself out of his bed. He pulled on his trousers to keep his legs warm, and tugged the blanket off his bed to wrap around his shoulders. He lit a candle on the small wooden desk by the window, rubbing at his eyes before opening the book he was currently reading, flicking out the red silken book mark part way through the smooth pages.

Charles's eyes strained under the light of the single candle, and he tried to focus on the words that seemed to swirl into one another. The dark ink blurred and pooled, mixing and forming images of hands on thighs and lips on necks, Charles whimpering as he slammed the tome shut.

He was about to snuff out the candle, when suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps outside his room. Following the thump of what sounded like bare feet against wood was a guttural, throaty and almost animalistic laugh. It was unbridled, and full of something that made Charles jump.

The laughter echoed down the hall, and Charles stared at the locked door to his chambers with bated breath. The sounds soon stopped, and Charles felt like his heart had too.

Gripping the candle holder in his hand tightly, knuckles white, Charles unlatched his door and peeked outside. The hallway was empty, and Charles, for a second, thought that maybe he was delirious. On account of his already heart-stopping dream and the lack of sleep, Charles knew his nerves were frayed.

But he could still hear that laugh in his head, clear as day.

Charles tentatively stepped out of his room, closing his door behind him. The noise sounded like it drifted off towards the right of the hall, and Charles cautiously stepped there, hand drifting across the carved wooden walls as he followed the source of the eerie noise.

Charles turned the corner and heard the sound of skittish feet padding against the floor, and then the sound of a door creaking. He followed the noise, eyes darting left and right, as if expecting a beast of the night to spring out from the recess of the shadows, but the hallway was still.

Charles let out a relieved sigh when nothing was found, and was about to turn back when his eye caught a slight glow from a partially opened door. Charles held his candle to him, wondering if someone was still awake at this time; it was unlikely, since it was sometime just past two in the morning, and no one would be awake at this hour.

A voice in Charles's head told him to go there, to the door with the flickering light. As he neared, Charles began to smell the scent of smoke and burning wood, and his bare feet moved faster and faster, pushing the door open.

Charles gasped in shock, almost dropping his candle as he took in the sight before him; flames climbed up the posters of a grand bed, more intricately crafted than Charles's, and fitted with dark green curtains that were being devoured by fire. Dark smoke clung to the ceilings, and heat lashed out at Charles's skin, the air thin.

Charles's eyes burned and throat scratched as he saw a figure lying prone in the centre of the fire – Erik. Charles cursed, hastily putting his candle on Erik's desk that had yet to be touched by flames, rushing towards the unconscious man without a second thought.

Charles didn't notice how the flames threatened to burn his skin black and red, and just yelled out Erik's name over and over as he shook his shoulders, the man barely stirring.

"Erik! Erik! Wake up!" Charles cried out frantically, letting out a startled noise as one of the curtains fell away from its banister, flames bursting across the ground. Charles shook Erik's shoulders again, the man groaning. "Erik! Please, wake up!"

Erik's eyes opened, a little dazed, and he looked confused when his eyes focused enough to recognise Charles. Then, Erik noticed the panicked look on his face, and the flames that danced above his head, and his pale eyes widened before his toned body leapt up.

Erik swore as he tore down the remaining curtains, using his blankets to try and snuff out the flames. Charles rushed to Erik's wash station, throwing basins of water at the flames, the water sizzling and evaporating into puffs of steam.

When all the water was spent, Erik barked at Charles to grab the other blankets, Charles tripping over his own feet in his haste to pull down the curtains on his side, yelping as fire lapped at his wrists. Charles helped Erik stomp and pat the blankets down, until the flames were silenced and killed.

Erik, in what seemed like fury, stomped a strong leg down onto the already extinguished curtains a few more times, venting his anger. Once he was done, he turned to Charles, gripping the younger man's biceps and shaking him roughly.

"Charles, are you injured?" Erik asked, voice frantic as his eyes squinted in their newfound darkness, looking up and down at Charles. Erik pat down Charles's arms, torso and face for any injuries, and when he moved to pat at Charles's clothed thighs, the younger man jumped away.

"I am fine," Charles assured Erik hastily, looking at their charred surroundings, before looking back at Erik. "You... Are you okay? Erik, you were in those flames far longer than I."

"I- yes. Yes, I'm alright," Erik said, swearing again as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Under the moonlight, Erik's face was cut with anger, before he steeled his expression and walked past Charles.

"Did you see what happened?" Erik asked the young tutor, beginning to pace back and forth, stepping over charred fabric and splintered wood. Charles swallowed deeply, voice scratchy.

"I did not so much as see anything, but a noise had roused me from my sleep," Charles said quietly, casting an apprehensive look at Erik.

"What noise?"

"There was someone at my door," Charles said, pushing back the feeling of Erik's dreamscape footsteps, the magical unlocking of his door without hands. "It sounded like there was someone... laughing. I followed the noise, and... well." Charles looked at the carnage around them, Erik's face growing stormy.

The tutor watched his employer as he grabbed a heavy cloak that had been draped over the chair tucked under the desk, before stepping back over to Charles. There was still anger scrawled over Erik's face, but his hands were gentle as they pulled the coat over his shoulders, drawing it in under his chin. It was then that Charles realised he was shivering.

"Stay here, and don't say a word," Erik ordered, Charles too frazzled to do much else but nod silently. Erik hesitated for a moment, before drawing his thumb across Charles's cheek, the moment so tender that Charles felt like he would faint. "Stay here," Erik said again, as if he thought Charles would leave – or could leave – in that moment. Charles just nodded again, and Erik quickly pulled on a pair of pants and took Charles's candle from the desk, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Charles collapsed into a chair, the smell of burnt wood thick around his hunched body. The clock on the wall ticked on, and Charles cast his hand over the cheek Erik had touched moments before. He could still feel the lingering touches, reality mixing with dream, heightened by the smell of Erik embedded into the cloak around his shoulders.

Charles was wallowing in the fractured mess that were his budding feelings for Erik, when the man he was so tormented over returned. His face was grave, but his body purposeful as he walked over to Charles, who stood on ceremony. Erik began to approach Charles, but his step faltered when Charles flinched upon his approach. Erik's face twisted slightly, but he schooled it into submission quickly, the change in expression gone before Charles could even exhale.

"Say nothing about this," Erik said, voice a low rumble. "You are not like the others here, you do not speak callously. I'll account for the state of affairs, so say nothing."

"This is not 'nothing' though, Erik," Charles said, voice more biting than he intended it to be, his nerves jumping to his throat. "I know I heard something, someone. And you could have... you could have..." Charles pictured what would have happened if he had not been awake, and if he had not come when he did. He imagined Erik's body, this handsome, Adonis-like form in front of him withered and charred, his Germanic features burned away until he was unrecognisable.

It was like Charles had pushed the image into Erik's mind too, the older man thinking about the same thing, and his expression softened, voice quietening to match the silence of the night. Here, in this room, it was just Charles and Erik, the silence only punctuated with their breaths.

Erik then stepped towards Charles, slowly, as if not to startle him.

"Charles," Erik breathed, standing in front of the young man so they were almost chest to chest. Charles had to crane his neck to meet Erik's eyes, though every fibre in his being was screaming 'flee, flee, flee'. However, Charles was riveted to the spot, pinned down by the weight of Erik's gaze and drawn into the man's orbit.

"Fire is a horrible death. You saved my life," Erik said, reaching his hand up to touch Charles's cheek again, the boy flinching. Erik's hand chased after Charles's face, cradling it in his palm, causing Charles to shudder. "You saved my life, Charles. Don't shy away from me as if we were strangers."

"What am I to do, then?" Charles breathed out, swaying on his feet. There was another question hidden there, one Charles was not brave enough to ask aloud.

Erik's thumb rubbed slow, careful circles on Charles's cheek as he sighed, head drawing nearer to Charles, like there was a string tied between them that was growing shorter and shorter with every sharp inhalation.

"I knew that you would do me good in some way, that you were different," Erik whispered, Charles's eyes fluttering shut as Erik's other hand drew upwards to trap the other side of his face. Charles's hands came to fist the fabric of the front of Erik's shirt, unsure about whether they should pull the man closer or shove him away.

"Erik..."

"Charles, we are not strangers, so don't push me away," Erik said, and Charles could feel his breath against his lips, and he wanted so badly to give in, to just tilt his head that last little bit to feel Erik's lips on his lips.

Unnatural child.

Just as Charles felt a scant brush of pressure against his mouth, he pushed at Erik's chest, stepping back. Erik's pupils were black, and they darkened further when Charles pulled his cloak from his body, pressing it into Erik's now empty hands.

"No, we are not strangers, my friend," Charles said hurriedly, giving the master a shaky, forced smile. "I am tired and shall retire. Good night, Erik."

With that, Charles brushed past the master of Ironfield Hall, who turned to gaze at him as he disappeared. Charles ran back to his room and closed his door with a heavy clunk, locking it behind him. Charles shook as he leaned against it, slowly sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, face buried against his knees.

"Oh, God."