Erik has his back half-turned (he's at the sink, filling two glasses with water; there was a smaller, plastic cup imprinted with something like ducks among the others in the cupboard, he doesn't know for sure because he shut it too fast) but at that he turns back and smiles, a closed, sloped thing. "What a world we've come to if that's the case."
He means, since whoever brought them here obviously isn't intimidated by him (which as far as Erik is concerned is both foolish and an advantage he could use), wouldn't it be a delightful irony if Charles wrapped in bedsheets turned the tide. If any imagery crosses his mind in the same moment it's quickly submerged, and probably just an echo of the fact that today they've been mistaken for lovers twice in about the span of as many minutes. In fairness that's hardly been the worst thing to happen, but even as bitter and brittle as Erik feels in the moment, he works through it. If he slows down, if he stops moving, he may never find his momentum again. So he fills water glasses and sets them opposite one another at the little table in the corner of the kitchen. It's more like a breakfast nook, when beyond the room where they are now there is a slightly fancier dining room, but Erik would rather eat in here, and he suspects the same of Charles.
"As fetching as the idea is," his eyelashes are down; he's not up to his usual banter that does, frankly, often border on flirting (which is really just torturing himself), but it may be its more drawn and paler cousin, "It won't be necessary."
Which is truly tragic. Meanwhile, practical details, which Erik lines up like a row of dominoes while settling his lanky self neatly into one of the kitchen chairs; Charles will notice the difference in his posture when in the mansion's library he sprawled like he belonged there. "There are two bedrooms upstairs, and one on this level. Sleep wherever you'd like, but the master bedroom's the one on the left."
He refrains from elaborating on the fact that the other room was obviously a child's; as much as can be done to erase that fact already has been. That this means Erik is taking the bedroom on the ground floor probably only surprises Charles as much as he might be surprised to hear that water, at this juncture, remains wet. It's the much more defensible position. "After that we'll need to plan, and there's no use trying on an empty stomach."
There wasn't much in the kitchen or pantry, but he's managed to scrounge together what he thinks will hold them for a few days. He knows how to stretch rations to a nigh-unhealthy degree, but he's not willing to subject Charles to that yet.
no subject
He means, since whoever brought them here obviously isn't intimidated by him (which as far as Erik is concerned is both foolish and an advantage he could use), wouldn't it be a delightful irony if Charles wrapped in bedsheets turned the tide. If any imagery crosses his mind in the same moment it's quickly submerged, and probably just an echo of the fact that today they've been mistaken for lovers twice in about the span of as many minutes. In fairness that's hardly been the worst thing to happen, but even as bitter and brittle as Erik feels in the moment, he works through it. If he slows down, if he stops moving, he may never find his momentum again. So he fills water glasses and sets them opposite one another at the little table in the corner of the kitchen. It's more like a breakfast nook, when beyond the room where they are now there is a slightly fancier dining room, but Erik would rather eat in here, and he suspects the same of Charles.
"As fetching as the idea is," his eyelashes are down; he's not up to his usual banter that does, frankly, often border on flirting (which is really just torturing himself), but it may be its more drawn and paler cousin, "It won't be necessary."
Which is truly tragic. Meanwhile, practical details, which Erik lines up like a row of dominoes while settling his lanky self neatly into one of the kitchen chairs; Charles will notice the difference in his posture when in the mansion's library he sprawled like he belonged there. "There are two bedrooms upstairs, and one on this level. Sleep wherever you'd like, but the master bedroom's the one on the left."
He refrains from elaborating on the fact that the other room was obviously a child's; as much as can be done to erase that fact already has been. That this means Erik is taking the bedroom on the ground floor probably only surprises Charles as much as he might be surprised to hear that water, at this juncture, remains wet. It's the much more defensible position. "After that we'll need to plan, and there's no use trying on an empty stomach."
There wasn't much in the kitchen or pantry, but he's managed to scrounge together what he thinks will hold them for a few days. He knows how to stretch rations to a nigh-unhealthy degree, but he's not willing to subject Charles to that yet.