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They had stablished The System a long, long time ago.
Since they became each other’s roommate, actually, and realized that they had more in common than their home state and decided they should be friends.
Whenever he or Charles is on a date, they send a first message after meeting the prospected boyfriend.
If the guy didn’t dress nicely or doesn’t seem to have a particularly good hygiene, the message is about the water system in their room.
If the guy did dress nicely and smells clean and proper, the message is about the heating system.
Afterwards, they give one or two hours to their date to seduce them, or at least convince them that there is an interest in continuing this any further.
If all hope is lost, they send a message about their Chemistry class, and the other calls back, giving them an exit.
If there is some merit into keeping on going, they send a message about human mutation, and they call it a night.
But tonight, the System has failed Charles.
Because his and Erik’s plan had not taken into consideration the possibility that his date—dressed to the nines, smelling good, holding the door, interesting conversation, smart choices on the menu—would be found by the restaurant manager with his pants down to his ankles and his penis down a bus boy’s throat.
Charles can’t even find it in himself to send a text once the man has been kicked out of the restaurant; he just sits at his table, eating the complimentary plate of pasta the manager got him to apologize for his staff’s behavior, trying not to cry like a pathetic idiot.
When his phone buzzes.
“Heating system still functioning?”
In spite of his bad mood, Charles can’t help but smile at Erik’s message and, by extension, at Erik.
“Heating system blew up”
That should give Erik the general idea of how bad it is—the last thing Charles wants is to put all of his sadness and anger on his best friend.
But when Charles thinks that Erik got the message and decided to leave him be—all things considered, the wisest thing to do, but there is a pinch in his gut that looks a little bit too much like disappointment for his liking—his phone buzzes once again.
“Where are you?”
Charles types the name of the restaurant and returns his attention to those most excellent cannelonis with bell peppers and basil.
Lots of sauce—now wouldn’t be a good time to stain his shirt and dress pants but boy it is delicious.
“Excuse me?”
Charles swallows the large bite he has in his mouth before looking up, and a good thing he did too—he would have choked on it.
Because Erik is standing next to the table, looking even more handsome than usual.
“Erik?” he asks pointlessly as Erik takes off his coat—and oh sweet baby Jesus, he’s wearing a waistcoat—and sits in front of him. “What … what are you doing? Here?”
Erik smiles and picks up Charles’s glass of water to sip. “This sounded like a 911,” he replies before gesturing at the waiter who is looking positively puzzled but amused. “I’ll have what he’s having, please?”
“Right away,” the waiter replies before winking at Charles on her way towards the kitchen—it’s the girl who literally stumbled on Whats-his-face’s shoes in the closet, and she’s smiling encouragingly at Charles, like Erik is actually a … a rebound date.
“Still,” Charles continues, as Erik settles down, rolling his sleeves a little and picking up the fork that Douchebag didn’t even touched to steal some of Charles’s dish. “You didn’t have to do that, I would have been fine by myself.”
Erik chews pensively, looking at Charles without a word and Charles can feel his face heating up as Erik’s eyes sparkle gently in the candlelight.
“I know that I didn’t have to,” Erik says, pausing when the waitress comes back with a plate and a glass of water for him. “But it was the right thing to do—and you would have done the same, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“See? It’s all good.”
Erik smiles and bows his head, turning his gaze to his plate and they eat in companionable silence for a moment.
“That guy is an idiot.”
Charles looks up, and Erik is sitting back in his chair, holding his glass and Charles is almost—almost—overwhelmed by the sudden want pooling in his guts to just go over the table and sit in Erik’s lap to kiss that line that goes from Erik’s collarbone to the hinge of his jaw.
“Hm?”
“The guy, your date,” Erik explains, “he’s an idiot for …”
“For?”
“For not... appreciating you like he should. Like you deserve,” Erik adds, pink blossoming on his cheeks and neck.
Charles smiles shyly, looking down for a moment before raising his head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. My gain, after all.”
Charles raises one eyebrow. It sounds like flirting, and he hesitates before going for full-on flirting. “How so?”
Erik straightens up. “It’s finally my chance at getting you on a date, isn’t it?”
Charles opens and closes his mouth before settling on a smile. “Let me see it, then. The full ‘Erik Lehnsherr Wooing Experience’.”
Erik smirks, before reaching to open another button of his shirt, revealing the dip of his throat. “So, tell me more about you, Charles. I’m curious.”
Charles knows that it’s mostly an act to cheer him up after this disaster of a date.
He knows that there has always been some level of attraction, of chemistry between them, but he didn’t want to ruin their friendship for what could turn into something ugly and hateful.
And maybe it’s the cocktail he got before the meal, maybe it’s the humiliation, maybe it’s the way Erik looks particularly delectable on “date mode”, but he throws caution to the winds.
“Well, Erik, I’m a student at Oxford.”
“You don’t say?” Erik replies, chin in his hand as he looks fascinated.
Charles can’t help but laugh. “In the flesh. You too?”
“It’s a very small world, huh?”
“Indeed,” Charles says, lifting his glass to clink it against Erik’s. “To Fate.”
“To Fate,” Erik replies, waiting for Charles to take a sip of his water to brush the tip of his shoe against Charles’s ankle.
That cheat.
--
As they walk back to the dorms, Erik can feel his palms getting sweaty in his pockets.
What was he supposed to do?
Let Charles finish his dinner under the sympathetic but pitying gaze of the waiting staff and offer a pat on the shoulder once he got back in their room?
He couldn’t bare the idea of it.
Besides, maybe this was his chance.
His window of opportunity to show Charles that he was actually someone he could date.
The … date, because it is a date, isn’t it, has gone better than most of Erik’s dates of late, and now he wonders what is supposed to happen.
It’s not like he can kiss Charles goodnight and go to his room to debrief it all with his best friend.
Because they share a room.
Because they’re roommates.
Because his best friend is his date.
Oh it’s all so fucked up isn’t it? Well..
“That’s me,” Charles says, stopping in front of the door.
But before Erik can point out that yeah, he’s aware, Charles continues. “I had a very good time, Erik. Can I—May I call you? To set up another date?”
Erik frowns. “Suuuure.”
“Great. Good night!” Charles says, leaning in for a short—soft, sweet, perfect—kiss before entering the room and closing the door behind him.
Erik stands in a daze, his fingers caressing his lips—they’re still tingling from that perfection of a peck—and then he shakes himself up and enters the room.
Charles is sitting on his bed, legs crossed under him like a child. “Erik! I have to tell you all about my hot date tonight!”
Erik laughs and closes the door. “You do?”
Charles pats the mattress next to him and Erik takes off his shoes before joining him on the bed, sitting on his feet.
“It started disastrously,” Charles starts, eyes sparkling, “and then this knight in shining waistcoat saved the day.”
“Shining waistcoat, uh?”
“It was perfect,” Charles says, turning his hand palm up on the bed.
An offering.
A leap of faith.
One that Erik takes wholeheartedly. “It really was,” he replies, pushing on his toes to get another kiss, a deeper kiss.
It really is.