@telepathiic | jawline kiss
eight o’clock and erik follows him into his room after
dinner, walking behind him with wide hands and big
gestures and a deep investment in a conversation
he’s since forgotten.
ten o’clock and charles has to interrupt him
mid-conversation to go and brush his teeth. he
follows him again, through the bump of his wheels
over the doorway, and sits on the closed toilet talking
to him, leaning against the wall, nodding through his
foamy-mouthed rebuttal, watching him in the mirror.
eleven and he’s almost lying down in the armchair in
the corner of the room, legs in front of him, ankles
crossed, forearm draped over his brow, over his eyes.
charles changing into his pyjamas.
one in the morning, closed curtains and silence outside,
and he’s sitting on the edge of charles’ bed, nodding and
interrupting him and grinning and listening and ---
suddenly, it seemed to make sense that his eyes have been
closed for a while and he can hear the pages of charles’
book turning leafily somewhere near him.
he doesn’t know when he kicked his shoes off. hours ago,
probably. but his feet are on the bed, his socks twisted
half-way wrong.
it must be two. half-two. late enough that his eyelids are
heavy and charles is squinting at his book in the low light.
stirring without moving, his foggy eyes adjust to being
awake.
he blinks at charles’ profile. his creasing brow, his nose, the
dip of his upper lip that erik imagines is the exact size
of the soft pad of his own index finger, his chin, the smooth
line of his jaw.
he kisses it. his jaw. the corner of it. above his shoulders
that rest against the deep pillows. above the warm and
almost hidden line of his neck. below his earlobe. right
below it. his nose touches the soft shell of his ear. is
ticked by his curling hair.
he can’t remember making the decision.
he stays up on his elbow after drawing back.
his voice is soft and rough and strange. as low as the
dim light.
“ --- i’m sorry i fell asleep.”
