There is something incongruous, always incongruous, about Charles lying flat on his back in a field of grass.
Come now, my friend, we all need a break from time-to-time. Even you.
"You have a piece of grass hanging out of your mouth."
Erik is fairly certain he's dreaming. But Charles's voice is so clear in his mind...
It's hay. I think. And you don't sleep with that ridiculous thing on your head, do you?
"Not often. Though perhaps I should start."
You like your creature comforts too much, when you allow yourself them. And even with your mutation I can't imagine the helm would be an agreeable pillow. Come and lie down. I'm not eavesdropping for your plans, or your location. I just miss you.
Erik shakes his head but makes his way to the other man's side and stretches out; feeling Charles's chest sturdy beneath his ear, the fingers that come up to curl along the back of his head, the sun shining down on him.
Don't fall asleep, my friend, Charles says, amused. You might wake up.