This one is for you @pinkoptics. You sent in my first prompt: picking fuzz off their clothing From a list of ordinary things that become intimate when you love someone and this is what happened ;). I hope you enjoy it!
Erik gritted his teeth and picked a spot on the wall to stare at as Charles examined him from shoulders to ankles, brushing off lint and picking off extraneous pieces of… well something… as he went.
“How long has this thing been stuffed into the back of your closet?” Charles asked.
“Um… a while?” Erik answered lamely.
Probably more than a while really. He might have pulled this suit out for his sister’s graduation, but that had been years ago, before he’d even moved into Charles’ place.
“You should have told me about your show sooner. I would have sent this to get cleaned.”
“When exactly would you have had time to do that?” Erik queried.
Charles had to be the busiest person he had ever met. Teaching classes at Columbia, spending absurd hours at the lab doing research, staying until the janitors kicked him out of his office typing up journal articles, and still accompanying Erik every weekend to the Mutant Youth Center to volunteer, teaching teenagers everything from chess to how to control their mutations.
“I have my ways.” Charles replied, brow arched.
“There’s no way I would have bothered you with cleaning the suit, but I should have told you about the show earlier. You are coming, right?”
“Of course I’m coming. I am annoyed that my roommate and best friend didn’t tell me about the biggest show of his professional career until, oh, four hours ago – but there is no way I’m missing your triumph.”
Looking down at Charles, picking bits of fluff off his old dusty suit, doing his best to make Erik as presentable as possible, Erik felt his heart lurch in his chest. He couldn’t quite figure out why he hadn’t told Charles about the show until today, scant hours before he had to leave to meet with the gallery director and make sure everything was perfectly set up for the show tonight. Charles was, however unbelievable it may be, his best friend and biggest supporter. By all rights, they should never even have met.
Erik, a thirty year old ex-mechanic who’d quit his job to start a new career as an artist and Charles, twenty six year old academic genius and one of the youngest professors to ever be employed at Columbia. Two opposites living together because of a combination of luck and misfortune.
The luck had been Erik’s. Finding a posting on Craigslist for an ‘Artist’s Apartment’ listed with a very reasonable monthly rent, Erik had jumped at the chance to see the place. He’d arrived to find what had to be the most perfect space for an artist – huge open living area, giant windows, concrete flooring, brick walls, 16 foot high ceilings. He’d also met Charles, in all his khaki pants and cardigan wearing academic glory. Charles had happily prattled on about how his sister was an artist and had been using the apartment, and how she’d kept everything open to make it accessible for him, but now she was in Paris with no plans to return to New York for at least a year.
That had been over two years ago.
The misfortune had been Charles’. He’d been in charge of renting out Raven’s apartment and had been happy to lease it to Erik. He’d been the perfect absentee landlord; never bothering Erik, always on top of sending a repairman when needed, never unexpectedly increasing Erik’s rent like some of the shady characters Erik’s had dealt in the past. Then, six months into his lease, Charles had shown up on Erik’s doorstep one night, soaked to the bone and dragging one sad looking suitcase and a backpack. It was one of the most pathetic sights Erik had ever encountered.
After ushering Charles in, giving him time to change into dry clothes and making him a hot cup of cocoa, Erik had found himself on his couch with Charles, who had explained, cheeks flushed, and voice apologetic, his current unfortunate circumstances.
Apparently, Charles was rich. Erik did not find this piece of information particularly surprising. Charles looked rich, he talked like he was rich and he dressed like he was rich. Charles’ wealth was a given. That he had horrible relatives who had kicked him out of his home and were suing him for all was worth, which had left him with all his assets frozen and no where to live was more of a shock. Charles owned Erik’s apartment – outright. He’d bought it for his sister five years ago and it was currently his only option for living accommodations (Charles’ words, not Erik’s).
Erik couldn’t have kicked the man out if he tried. Charles looked like a puppy, a small blue eyed puppy, who’d been kicked out into the street and left to fend for himself and had no idea what to do with himself. Erik might not have been the most friendly, easy going guy, but his mother hadn’t raised him to be a jerk. He’d told Charles in no uncertain terms that he was more than welcome to stay as long as he needed to and had then gone to clear out the spare room (which had until that moment been full of sculpting tools and materials). Charles had thanked him profusely, sworn up and down he wouldn’t be a bother and then passed out on the bed within minutes.
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