⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆ charles and hank
𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐤’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦; hear the confused thoughts as his beloved friend and sometimes caretaker watched him with growing interest. Charles supposed Hank had every right to be confused. After all, when was the last time he saw the telepath do much of anything for himself? Being in a goddamned wheelchair made cooking for himself rather difficult. He could barely reach the stove but thanks to Hank’s cure, there was no need to fret about it anymore. Standing before the stove with his back to Hank, Charles was dressed in a long, red robe --- a clean one at that --- frying bacon and making grits with eggs to follow shortly. His long, messy hair no longer looked greasy. It had been washed, though he still hadn’t bothered to shave or anything. Baby steps. He had no reason to look pretty for anyone these days so he wasn’t going to try too hard. At any rate, he continued flipping bacon and moved only once to grab a pan from another pantry. With the oven hot now, he could make ready to prepare some toast. This would be the first time he’s actually eaten a decent breakfast in months, though not from lack of trying on Hank’s part. He tried often to take care of Charles, but he was right stubborn. Honestly, Charles had no idea why Hank didn’t just leave like the rest of the lot, but he figured that was probably a mystery best left unsolved.
Once he moved the finished bacon off the hot eye, he turned with his pan, reaching for the bread loaf. He met Hank’s gaze, but only briefly as he placed a few pieces of bread on the pan. Reaching for the butter and knife, he finally spoke, his voice quiet and in a tone Hank hadn’t heard in a long time.
“I just felt like cooking,” he stated quietly, answering Hank’s question before he could spit out the words. “You don’t have to eat any, but there should be plenty if you want some too when I’m done.” | @beastingtm / @personsuits
