ang3lsh1

The waters are grey, reflections of the overcast skies above, winds buffeting around him, whipping the heavy woolen lapels against his legs. The waves crash against the dividers leaving a fine spray that mists over his face, reminding him of tears. He fiddles with the heavy camera in his hands, tuning the settings before raising the viewfinder up against his eye and peers into it. The vast expanse of the sea narrows down to a pinhole as he focuses and waits for that one moment where the sun breaks through the clouds before pressing down on the shutter. The click is drowned out by the howl of the wind, chorused by the crash of water against the concrete.

The splash of water on his hand is a surprise, the droplet trickling down the hand that’s holding on to the camera. He isn’t close enough to be splashed by the sea itself. He looks up from the camera in time for another to drop right on his nose, making him blink in reflex. The darkened sky finally decides to give in and start raining. Cursing he hastily packs up everything up to get back to his car. His predilection for old-fashioned film makes him paranoid. After all just because he does watermark his work, he doesn’t want it to be literal.

He manages to unlock the doors and scramble in the drivers seat as he gently tosses his camera onto the shotgun seat just before the rain starts pouring in earnest, with his equipment is mostly dry and intact. Bent over the wheel he catches his breath and the little voice in his head with a very suspicious posh accent asks himself once again:

Just exactly what is it that you’re running away from

The last time he was out here, skies were blue and stretched out for so long you couldn’t tell where the sea ended and the sky began and Charles was laughing, running on the sands, cuffs rolled up to his mid-calves as he splashed sea water at Erik. Who was affronted at Charles’ audacity, what if it got inside his equipment?

But before he could say anything at all, Raven snatched the camera out of his hands, bent over with laughter as Charles tackled him. They both went down in the sand, the grains seeped down his waistband, he should have been worrying about it damaging the film in his pockets but all Erik could see were the blue of Charles’ eyes and when he leant in to kiss Erik, Erik drowned in those depths.

Later on as he showed Raven how to go about the dark room, he found one single photo taken by Raven. As he fished it out to hang on the line, Raven came up from behind him crowing over how smitten and useless Erik was over her brother but he couldn’t bring himself to care, warmth blooming in his chest as the photos told no lies - Charles was equally smitten and that’s more than okay with him.

A splash hits his thigh and he’s shocked to find that he’s crying again. Truth be told he doesn’t know what he expected, driving all the way out here, in this weather. He shouldn’t even be in any position to drive, given what happened the last time.

the sudden flash of headlights, swerving to avoid the oncoming car - except that they’re going over the bank and the car flips over and there’s horrible crunch of metal and there’s nothing he can do and Charles is bleeding out beside him and the medics are not going to get to him on time..

He pulls himself out that memory. Dwelling on it cannot change the past.

And yet. Here he is.

Raven would be screaming at him. Over this foolishness, coming out here. Thinking maybe it’ll help purge something.

But

He can’t remain in the city. Not where every time he lifts the viewfinder, he’s drawn to the closest speck of blue, every corner he turns because he thinks he hears that familiar baritone, he stops going to coffee shops and the like, and yet he can’t bring himself to clear out the apartment despite the fact that he doesn’t drink tea at all.

He wakes up in the morning and finds himself steeping tea bags in mugs that will never be drunk again and can’t bring himself to throw it out, as though Charles will stumble out of the main bedroom, rubbing at one eye, in Erik’s cardigan, that’s overly large, collar slipping down one shoulder to drink from it and then kiss Erik good morning.

One morning he woke up to soft sunlight filtering through the window, dancing off swirling dust motes in the air and he remembers clearly watching them swirl lazily before settling down on freckled shoulders. And he remembers bending down and tracing out those freckles with his tongue and smothered laughter when Charles turned over to reciprocate and he reaches out to the space where Charles should be only to meet cold empty sheets.

He can’t bring himself to sleep in their bed any more, relegating himself to the worn couch in the lounge. It isn’t comfortable but it’s not like he’s slept well any more. Not after that night.

Raven visits him once at the apartment citing that Erik has spent way too long wallowing in his grief and guilt.

"It’s time to move on. It’s time to clean the place and put Charles’ things away."

But he can’t bear to let go of anything. No matter how painful the reminder is.

The visit ends in tears on Raven’s part as she cried and pleaded with him, “You’re not the only one who lost someone, I lost a brother and nothing I say or do can bring Charles back, but that doesn’t mean that I have to die along with him. The same goes for you too, Erik.”

He wonders what she say to him now, running out of the city to escape the memories.

The sound of the engine stalling startles Erik as the car slowly rolls to a stop. He tries turning the key, pressing down on the accelerator in unison. The engine starts up rumbling before dying down to a whine and sputters weakly as it grows quiet again. With a sigh, he bends down to flick the latch to open the hood, glancing up as he moves to step out of the car.

Erik realises that he’s in front of the Westchester mansion, Charles’ childhood home, overgrown and sinking down into disrepair. He didn’t realise he drove all the way here, from one memory to another.

Without thinking much of it, he reaches out to cradle his camera as he steps out of the car, muscles memory fidgeting with the lens as he brings the viewfinder up to his eye, making his way slowly up the steps.

As he enters the mansion, the mist curls slowly in, enveloping the mansion as though lulling it to sleep.