Charles Xavier, wholeheartedly, believes it is beneath him to use telepathy this much.
(His fingers drop from his temple, reluctantly.)
But he is rubbish at reading people otherwise. Perhaps it is the necessity of guessing what people expect out of you when you can just give them what they want, and in their exact words too.
Charles is clueless when he is faced with nothing but body language.
"You have no idea, do you?"
"If you are talking about Raven—"
"… No, I don't. Is it something I said?"
"…Hardly, Charles, you are just so gentle with your words, aren't you?"
"Have nothing to say to defend myself?"
Charles Xavier, honestly, thinks he can be the better person when it comes to those he cares for.
So he stops himself from looking into their heads, drawing distance and placing privacy before his own need to satisfy when it comes to face-to-face interaction that requires socially acceptable conversational English.
But it is all-hell-breaks-loose as disaster strikes in the form of his own amazing mouth.
"What are you trying to accomplish here, Charles?"
"I am trying this thing where—"
"You hurt everyone you know? Because you've done an exceptional job at that."
"Do you really have to put it that way, Erik?"
"It's the only way I can put it into words, you're unbelievably insensitive."
"And this is coming from me, Charles, the one emotionally damaged for good."
"You are socially incompetent."
"That is not true!"
Charles Xavier, truly, does know he can be a pretty shitty person with a pretty shitty excuse for a personality when he is without his telepathy.
It has something—no, it has everything to do with saying all the wrong things at exactly all the wrong times and not realizing it at all until it is too late.
Really, its quite amazing how much damage he is capable of doing even without his telepathy.
And Erik is simply staring with disapproval gleaming in those eyes like he is less than impressed. Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration because he has no excuse.
"One week, you are banned."
"Erik, you can't be serious."
"How about you then?"
"Get rid of that gun."
"Don't look at me like that, you know I hate it."
"…It was just once."
"You asked me to shoot you, point blank. Never again, you get rid of it."
"…Only if you last a week without reading anyone's mind."
"Not even the really loud ones?"
"Think of it as abstinence of some sort, can you understand that?"
"Honestly, not really."
"Just no, Charles. Nothing."
Charles Xavier, to a certain degree, places enough trust in Erik's methods to actually carry through with them.
Still, that doesn't change the fact that one week is seven days and seven days is one-hundred and sixty-eight hours and that is one-hundred and sixty-eight hours of no thoughts but his own.
And he knows he has a long way to go, even with the help of Erik Lehnsherr.