Because what else is there? There's no conceivable way to find out - none that he can see anyway - he's heard rumours of people vanishing for good and those like Erik who returned. Charles doesn't know what to think and so he doesn't, just smiles at him soft and a little foolish. He feels almost cruel, that Raven isn't here and he's clinging to Erik like he's the only thing in the world. That he isn't exactly rushing out into the street. But he has to be pragmatic. She could be home, she be all right and he won't have any way of knowing. But Erik is here and his blue eyes are pulling him in and he swallows, lips twisting before he breathes out. "I'm so ..."
Glad, thankful, relieved, sorry? He's not sure. "Sod it."
That's the moment he lists forward, presses his mouth to Erik's in something that could be misconstrued as aggression if not for the noise he makes, desperate and aching and finally happy to touch him the way he wanted. It's not even particularly skilled or deep, it's just the rough press of his body against his. But it satisfies the way his heart pounds for his friend, the sharp tug of need inside him.
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Because what else is there? There's no conceivable way to find out - none that he can see anyway - he's heard rumours of people vanishing for good and those like Erik who returned. Charles doesn't know what to think and so he doesn't, just smiles at him soft and a little foolish. He feels almost cruel, that Raven isn't here and he's clinging to Erik like he's the only thing in the world. That he isn't exactly rushing out into the street. But he has to be pragmatic. She could be home, she be all right and he won't have any way of knowing. But Erik is here and his blue eyes are pulling him in and he swallows, lips twisting before he breathes out. "I'm so ..."
Glad, thankful, relieved, sorry? He's not sure. "Sod it."
That's the moment he lists forward, presses his mouth to Erik's in something that could be misconstrued as aggression if not for the noise he makes, desperate and aching and finally happy to touch him the way he wanted. It's not even particularly skilled or deep, it's just the rough press of his body against his. But it satisfies the way his heart pounds for his friend, the sharp tug of need inside him.