Guessing (Charles Xavier)

18. Everywhere

Hey guys! I've decided to publish my Tom Hiddleston fan fiction after all- it's called Something About You. If you want to read it, it's on my profile under works, and I would love your advice! Guessing will still be my priority, of course, because I have you all as dedicated readers, so it won't change anything on this book. Lastly, my final examinations are coming up, so updates will be slower than usual for the next few weeks, but everything will pick up during the summer holidays! Thank you guys for everything 😘😘

"You went back to Oxford?"

"Yeah," I say. Charles has brought me to a small cafe for breakfast, or more like brunch. His accent has faded, and so has his energy. "I'm teaching at the university."

"And you're living back with Francesca?"

"I am. She, uh, she actually persuaded me to com here. We're on holiday."

Charles picks up a scone from the plate between us. It's blueberry, with what looks like lemon icing drizzled on top. "And I've ruined it, haven't I? Or Hank, seeing that he brought you here."

I hesitate before answering, because he really hasn't ruined it, as much as I wish I could say so. "No," I finally say. "No, you actually haven't."

"Haven't I?"

"Not at all. I'm actually... Thankful, I suppose, that I get to be here."

"That's good. I'm happy. We used to be happy, weren't we? In love, unafraid. Look at us now."

"I'm still in love."

"I am too."

"But I'm a little afraid."

"Then I suppose I am, as well."

I let a small smile out, and he reflects my actions. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.

"Of course."

"I like you better when you're honest."

"I am."

"I know you better than that, Charles."

"Say that again," he tells me, setting his scone back onto the plate in front of him.

"I know you better than that?"

"No, my name. Say my name again."

"Charles," I say softly, and it's a strange feeling because I haven't said it in forever. It's like eating a candy that you haven't had since childhood- familiar and sweet, but still foreign.

"I'm trying so hard not to kiss you right now."

"Then stop trying," I whisper, and he's leaning across the table and he's so damn close to me that I forget how to breathe.

"We're not gonna regret this, are we?"

His breath hits my face in a mixture of tea and mint and cologne. If he doesn't kiss me, I will. I'm certain of it.

"We might. But that's for later."

He smiles and leans back into his seat, away from me, and I feel the emptiness of his body so close to mine almost instantly.

"Then we'll see, later." He's grinning cheekily because he's just teasing me now, but we both know there's this unspoken hesitation between the two of us. It's been there ever since this morning, and it's refusing to leave the pit of my stomach, swirling like this uncertain hurricane.

"Charles."

"Haven."

I roll my eyes at his childish response, but mirror his movements and sit back into my seat. We don't talk for the next few minutes, just finishing the scones and tea and observing the cafe. It's a comfortable silence, the mutual kind that you could stay forever in.

We don't stay forever, unfortunately, because when Charles watches me finish the last scone (cinnamon, in fact) he asks me if I'm done, and I reply positively. He pays, like the gentleman he is, and I argue even though I don't have any money with me.

I stand up. "I should head back. Francesca's probably waiting for me."

"You should head back," he repeats to me as he's opening the door.

I face him awkwardly outside of the cafe, the heat of his breath still the strongest memory in my mind, and fidget with the collar of my rumpled dress. I look like a homeless girl, he looks like a homeless boy. But I'm still hoping that I'll find my home somewhere in him.

"I'll see you?"

He doesn't say anything, just stares at me in the most emotional way that anyone has ever looked at me, so I just turn the opposite direction and raise my hand to call a taxi.

"Haven," I hear, and it's all a flash of speed and passion and heat because I feel his hand on my shoulder, and then his lips are on mine and I feel like he's everywhere.

I don't resist.

It's as if two people are trying to put fire out with fire. His hands are in my hair and on my waist and on my face and on my back. He's everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

"You should honestly go," he tells me in between kisses, and I'm smiling the slightest bit.

"Hmm?"

"Francesca's- mm- worried."

"She can wait," I say, linking my arms up behind his neck and pulling him down to me. Charles suddenly pulls back from me, but I keep my arms around his neck, dangling on my tippy-toes.

"I'm completely obsessed with you, you know that?"

"I know," I smile. I don't need to say it back, because he understands already.

And just in case he doesn't, I kiss him again.