Confusion leaves slack in Erik’s line that he’s slow to reel in again. He’s hard-pressed to follow Charles’ thought process, tangled in the breakdown of logic that occurs somewhere around the younger man’s preference for mundanity over death.

It’s written all over his face.

His anger over the only conclusion there is for him to draw is more of a slow, steaming press. Steady heat radiates through his glare, long breaths funneled through his nose at a regular hiss and rush.

“Who else knows.”