A/N Sorry, it's been a while.

Charles is sitting on the couch pouring over his sketches when Raven finds him at half past noon. She takes the papers out of his hand to put them on the floor before replacing them with her head in his lap.

"Sometimes I think that's all I'm good for," Charles complains, smiling fondly at her. "Good morning."

"Morning," she says, barely bothering to stifle a yawn into his face. He jostles her with his legs and her yawn cuts off short with a giggle-snort. Fitting both of them on the couch used to be an easy task as children; now her feet dangle off the edge and his back cramps more often than not. She kicks her slippers off one by one. "So what's wrong?" she asks pointedly, poking him in the stomach. "You seem kinda down."

"I'm not," Charles objects, wondering when he had become so obvious to everyone around him.

"Whatever, I can see it written all over your face," she informs him. "I saw your abandoned tea cup in the kitchen and thought you were dead."

Charles laughs; he had forgotten all about it. "I've invited Erik to stay," he says carefully, watching her face for her reaction with a raised brow.

Raven sits up in surprise, nearly knocking her head against his. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes, Raven. He'll be here for a while, so behave," he warns.

"Holy shit. He's cute but not that cute. Is he good, too?" Her eyes are wide and she looks more excited than Charles feels. He suddenly realizes with heavy guilt that she's been as invested in this as he has been all these years.

"I'm not sure, actually," Charles says honestly, "I think he is, but he assures me he's not. I've told him we'll start tomorrow."

Raven's fingers twist into her hair as she thinks about it. "Are you sure about this?" she says and for the first time sounds uncertain. Her face softens, around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. "I mean, you don't have to just choose the first one you meet, you know."

Charles had thought about this already, but he's already made up his mind. "Yes, I'm sure. I want him." He hums as he mentally catalogues all he work left to be done, where he had left off, and how on earth they are going to manage as a team when they know nothing about each other. He can feel Raven beaming at him and he pulls himself from his thoughts with a wide grin. "Thank you for putting up with my stubbornness," he tells her though he supposes she already knows.

"And your nerdiness, your arrogance, your attitude problem," she counts off her fingers.

"Yes, thank you for that," Charles glares at her half-heartedly.

Raven pulls him into a rough hug and he laughs, kissing the side of her head.

"I can't believe you made me wait four years," she grouses into his shoulder. "It better be good."

"Oh, it'll be something," he assures her.

Charles is falling asleep at his desk when Erik slips into the study with two cups of tea. Charles looks up from his typewriter and smiles at him. "Thank you," he says, accepting the teacup. His hand shakes as he lowers it to the desk and he hates the way the spoon rattles along the porcelain. It's nearly five am, the grandfather clock's hands are large enough to see even in the dim light.

Erik is still dressed in the clothes he left in, but they smell like liquor and cigarette smoke. "I just saw the illustrations you left me," he says, "I was hoping you were still up."

"I am."

He takes a seat next to Charles, peering over the manuscript spread over the desk as if he is reading it but Charles doubts he is actually interested. Charles still wonders why Erik decided to stay, or what he must be doing up at this hour, but refrains from asking any more on both fronts, pleased with the unexpected company. The dawn glow tumbles onto the desk and stretches over the carpet and half of Erik's face as Charles watches him read. Erik mouths the words silently, lips curving around each syllable and Charles thinks perhaps if he tries he can tell which line he's finished. He stares at Erik's mouth, parted for now. It looks like he's drinking in the dusty light.

"What is it like?" Erik asks and Charles' eyes snap up.

"I'm sorry?" He says, his face heating slightly.

"To not be able to draw anymore." Erik looks at him. His tea is untouched.

Charles' eyes drop to his hands-still for now- resting on either thigh. He considers this. "You take all sorts of things for granted."

"I've-" Erik's thumb runs across his cheek. "I've always chosen when I wanted to give up. Or when to quit trying, I've never-" Erik pauses. He licks his lips as if to speak, but doesn't, only leans his hands against the desk, heavy.

"Never what?" Charles doesn't know what's happened to Erik between art school and now, doesn't know why Erik will illustrate a child's story tomorrow with alcohol rising off his breath tonight. Part of him hopes Erik finds what he's looking for. The other part hopes that whatever it is, it is something he can hold onto once he finds it.

"I don't know if I can mimic your drawing style."

Charles frowns in confusion. He seriously doubts that-at least from what he has seen- Erik said himself he's done a little bit of everything. But then Erik takes Charles' hand in his before he can protest. "Look," Erik says, as he grasps it easily for the second time. "I've been thinking about you all night." His eyes are dark but with a crystallized intensity that makes Charles shiver. His hand trembles lightly and he isn't entirely sure if he can blame his damaged nerves. "I want you to show me," Erik tells him quietly, nodding to a piece of scratch paper.

A spark of panic rises in the back of Charles' head. "I can't anymore." Charles jerks his hand back. "I've already told you."

Erik tightens his grip. "Just try, Charles."

"I've tried before, I can't." Charles is half frustrated already, and looks up at Erik under drawn brows. He doesn't know what Erik is trying to do and his heart beats loudly in his chest.

"What are you so afraid of? If it doesn't work out, it's just a doodle."

"I know that." Charles insists but Erik doesn't let go. The determination rolls just under the surface, caught in the set of his jaw, the set of his mouth. Erik brings their hands back to the paper stubbornly. Charles sighs but lets him hold on. "Alright," he concedes.

"Draw Beast," Erik prompts. His chest just barely presses against Charles' as he leans over him, his body warm and solid against his. Charles can feel Erik's breath rifle softly through his hair.

Charles props the pen on the paper with the heavy weight of both their hands. He hasn't done this in years. The ink already bleeds into the paper, blooming and familiar. He hesitates.

Erik's eyes are stern though his voice is not. "I'll keep it steady. You take the lead, I'll finish."

Beast, Charles thinks, exhaling loudly. Alright, once more. He presses his pen to the page.

Charles guides. Erik draws.

It's horrible.

But it is liberating somehow in an absurd way and the feeling bubbles up in Charles' chest before he can stop himself. He laughs so hard he draws Erik down with him, though he can barely make him out through the film of tears in his eyes. Erik's thumb presses along the inside of Charles wrist, his fingers still wrapped tight around his. So tight that Charles is nearly certain Erik can feel his pulse beating under his skin, keeping time tethered. Erik's hand moves lower, and for a moment Charles can't tell if Erik is trying to hold his hand, palm to palm. The thought leaves him breathless.

Erik's elbow knocks his teacup and it clatters loudly. Erik lets go, jerking up from his seat and knocking the chair back with the back of his legs.

"Sorry," he apologizes, righting the cup on the desk before straightening up. "I'd better go to bed. We have a lot ahead of us tomorrow."

"We do," Charles agrees, though he isn't sleepy anymore. He watches Erik walk away.

Erik hesitates at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Charles," he says softly.

"Goodnight, Erik."

A/N Please review.