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Restaurant #1: CEREBRO
The first time Erik had done it, Charles had been completely caught off-guard. It was true that it was near impossible to surprise a telepath, but Charles had a self-imposed moral code to never delve beyond the surface thoughts of others, especially those nearest and dearest to him. Raven and Erik fell in those categories, which was why Charles sometimes found himself unwittingly caught up in one of Erik’s schemes.
As graduate students, their miserable stipends meant that eating out was not an everyday luxury. Thankfully, their college town had a wide enough variety of affordable options catering mostly to broke students and fresh grads. Erik, who had the more adventurous palate and limited budget, would pore over Yelp reviews and make sure these places were wheelchair accessible. After two years of living in each other’s pockets, Charles had learned to trust Erik’s taste and judgment, following him willingly to any restaurant he’d selected.
Until, of course, that night in Cerebro.
It was a tapas bar two blocks from the Faculty of Science, and there was often a snaking line outside on Friday and Saturday nights. So Erik had suggested making a trip there mid-week, which Charles had absently agreed to. The night was pleasant, the food more so: Charles had unashamedly ordered two more plates of patatas bravas, while Erik had demolished the grilled salted cod. Erik was in a good mood because he’d just received his TA pay and was enjoying Charles’ company, his thoughts buzzing with happiness.
Charles had almost missed the moment they’d sharpened into clear resolve.
Their waitress was in the midst of clearing their plates when Erik stood up, walked over to Charles and got down on one knee. A wide-eyed Charles, frozen in the act of reaching for his wallet, asked, “Wait, what’s happening?”
“Charles, from the moment we’d met, I knew I’d found my equal,” Erik said steadily, reaching for Charles’ hand and taking it in his. “You are the smartest person I’ve ever known, but also the most annoying.” This was greeted with a few chuckles, and Charles realised that they had a small audience. “You’re brilliant, frustrating, stubborn and the most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on. I’d love to spend the rest of our days arguing with you until we grow old.” Here, Erik held out his palm, and a titanium ring floated out from his pocket, hovering above Erik’s lifelines. “Charles Francis Xavier, will you marry me?”
This had to be a joke. It had to be. Erik was clearly up to something. But by now, almost everyone in the restaurant was watching them, waiting with baited breath for the answer. Say yes! echoed throughout most minds, except for one patron who was rolling his eyes and secretly hoping for a shitshow. Say yes, Erik’s mind rang loud as a bell, and for the briefest moment Charles saw him drop a wink.
I’m going to kill you, Charles sent back vehemently, but he felt bad for everyone hopefully watching them. So he quietly said, “Yes, I will, Erik Lehnsherr.”
The restaurant erupted in cheers and hoots as Erik and Charles embraced tightly, then Erik slid the ring onto Charles’ finger. It was a coincidence in Erik’s favour that the fit was perfect.
What are you playing at? Charles hoped he sounded sufficiently homicidal even though he was pretending to grin like an idiot.
Just go with it. Erik reached over for Charles’ hand, his thumb brushing over Charles’ ring.
To Charles’ surprise, their waitress came up to the table with teary eyes and a heaping mountain of churros. “You’re the sweetest couple I’ve ever met,” she said, setting down the plate of churros. “This is on the house. Congratulations once again!”
Once she’d stepped away, Erik waggled his eyebrows at Charles as he triumphantly popped a churro into his mouth. Am I a genius or what?
Bloody brilliant plan, Charles thought sarcastically, and tried not to gloat when the too-hot churro singed Erik’s tongue.
***
They were a safe distance from the restaurant before Charles shot Erik a sharp look. “What the hell was that about?”
Guilt was pouring off Erik in waves. And, if Charles was right, a sense of deep remorse that had nothing to do with the free dessert. “It was just something I’d seen on one of their Yelp reviews,” Erik offered. At least he had the decency to be sheepish. “I mean, it worked right? I thought it would be funny.”
Taking a moment to reassess the situation, Charles grudgingly admitted to himself that it was something they might laugh about someday. For now, the sting of being falsely proposed to was still there. It wasn’t quite embarrassment that rattled Charles, but something deeper that he didn’t wish to examine. “I honestly don’t know how your brain works sometimes,” he finally said, exasperated. He was too tired to be angry with Erik.
Erik held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me, you’re the telepath here.” He couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching up in mirth. And not a very good one.
Charles rolled his eyes as Erik began chuckling in earnest. “I should have seen it coming,” he said, trying not to smile. He took off the ring and handed it back to Erik. “The engagement’s off, you twat.”
“Oh come on, Charles--” Erik’s fake outrage finally made Charles grin as he rolled off into the night.
Restaurant #2: NAM NAM NOODLE
Two weeks after the Embarrassing Fake Proposal, Erik suggested going out for dinner to celebrate Charles’ latest lab results and the approval of Erik’s thesis proposal. Charles, tired of endless cups of instant ramen and vending machine snacks, had unwittingly agreed to try the latest noodle bar in town. After all, he didn’t think Erik would dare try to pull such a silly stunt again.
However, he should have known better. When Charles called the waiter over so they could settle the bill, he turned back to Erik and found him on bended knee, holding up the same titanium ring to Charles.
This isn’t funny anymore, Charles fiercely thought, but Erik ignored him and proceeded with his proposal speech.
It was a little longer this time, with added flourishes from their daily lives that would sound believable to anyone who knew them. Like the time Charles had taken care of Erik during a nasty bout of gastric flu, or the time Charles had called in a favour with the head librarian to take home a reference-only book Erik desperately needed. Once again Erik asked: “Charles Francis Xavier, will you marry me?” and Charles, damn him, was weak to the seriousness in Erik’s grey eyes.
“Yes, I will, Erik.”
This time, dessert was two towering ice-cream sundaes, surrounding by a pile of fortune cookies that all said, ‘Congratulations!’
Don’t think I’m not going to kill you. Charles licked the fudge off his spoon, ignoring the way Erik’s gaze dropped to his mouth.
Sorry, can’t hear you over this delicious ice cream. Erik winked at him again, and, as per tradition, reached across the table so he could stroke Charles’ hand. The ring felt warm on Charles’ finger, and he must have imagined the way it almost pulsed against his skin.
***
“I hate you so much,” Charles said evenly, when they were back at Erik’s tiny apartment.
“Not a good start to the marriage, huh?” Erik said, before ducking the cushion Charles tossed at him.
Restaurant #7: ARMANDO’S DINER
By the time their final papers were due, Erik had pulled the stunt a few more times to varying degrees of success. Charles had absolutely no idea why he had played along every time, whether to save Erik from public embarrassment or to spite any bigots who had recoiled at the idea of two men dating and getting married in bloody 2017. If he wanted to be honest with himself, there was one big reason why he'd gone along with Erik's nonsense. This reason kept his head buried in his books and his lab work, ignoring the warmth Erik sparked in his chest every time he came over to spend time with Charles.
After they handed in their papers, Erik demanded that they go out to dinner and celebrate. This time, it was a restaurant across town that was famous for its pastas. Erik had offered to get them an Uber, and during the ride Charles could already sense Erik’s intent and determination. Not tonight, please? Charles mentally pleaded as their driver hummed along to a Foo Fighters song on the radio. I’m exhausted and I don’t want to defraud these nice people of any desserts.
It’s not like we’re skipping out on the bill entirely, Erik argued. Besides, it’s well-known that desserts have the highest mark-up in any eating establishment. I highly doubt we’ve been given anything that actually cost more than a few dollars.
That’s not the point, Charles sent back, his shoulders sagging in defeat. How on earth could he ever explain to Erik how these sham proposals left him feeling as though he’d been raked across the coals? He’d known for years now that whatever he felt for Erik ran far deeper than friendship, but Erik had never made a move so Charles respected that. Wasn’t a man allowed to pine in secret anymore? No, he was forced to suffer through these dinners with Erik painfully dangling a carrot in front of him.
The restaurant was quieter this time, and they were served by the owner himself, a friendly man named Darwin. His food was outstanding, and he popped by their table often just to chat. When Darwin saw the way Erik’s phone floated over to his palm, he’d asked them excitedly about their mutations. Then Darwin brought over a bowl of water and submerged his right hand, which soon rippled with scales.
Charles was praying and praying that Erik would not try to pull his stunt on this nice man, and thankfully the ring remained steadfastly in Erik’s pocket. It seemed that the night was going to pass by without incident until Darwin said, “So how long have you two been together?”
There was silence at the table; Charles didn’t know what to say, and Erik seemed surprised. “Oh sorry if I misread things,” Darwin said apologetically. “It’s just that there’s this, well, chemistry between you guys--”
“Two years,” Erik cut in, not at all hesitant as he scooped up Charles’ hand. “Charles and I have been together for two years.”
Darwin’s smile was wide and brilliant. “I knew it. After a long time in the service industry, I’m usually right about these things.”
“I’d marry him tomorrow, if I could,” Erik told Darwin. The sincerity in his voice was uncanny. “But we’re still in grad school, so--”
“Yeah, I get it.” Darwin reached out to clear their plates, and for the first time, Charles spotted the engagement ring on Darwin’s left hand. “I totally get it. But, you know….Some things, you just can’t wait for though.”
Charles and Erik sat in silence until Darwin came back and asked if they wanted any dessert, but Erik politely refused and called for the bill instead. When they were making payment at the counter, Charles spotted Darwin talking intimately with a young blond man in a chef uniform, and he turned to give them privacy as they laughed and exchanged a kiss.
***
“I don’t understand what you’re mad about,” Erik said as soon as they were out of the Uber and Charles’ chair had been unfolded. It was a Friday night, and there were plenty of students out on the streets, on their way to some party or gathering. “I didn’t pull the fake engagement stunt. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
Charles spun his chair around. “Like hell you didn’t. ‘I’d marry him tomorrow, if I could’. What was that about?”
To Charles’ surprise, Erik looked pale and stricken, as though Charles had physically landed a blow on him. “Charles--”
“Just leave me alone.” Charles turned back and rolled his way as fast as possible to his building’s entrance.
Restaurant #8: CHARLES' KITCHEN
It was Saturday morning-- or maybe Sunday? Charles fought through the hangover to reach for his phone and peer at the screen. Still Saturday, then. He almost knocked over the empty bottle of tequila on his bedside, setting it right again before heaving himself onto his chair and wheeling it to the bathroom. A solid night of drinking hadn’t helped with the hurt and pain Erik seemed to think was fair trade for a free bowl of ice cream.
Breakfast was a leftover carton of pasta from Darwin’s restaurant, which still tasted good even after a night in the fridge. But Charles couldn’t finish it, replaying over and over again how Erik’s eyes had been strangely tender as he’d blatantly lied about wanting to marry Charles. Hell, they weren’t even dating.
Thinking over the laughing kiss Darwin had bestowed upon his fiance, Charles put the pasta aside and buried his head in his hands. What had he been thinking, allowing Erik’s stupid so-called prank to get this far?
There was a sharp knock on Charles’ door, and he sat up when he sensed Erik’s prickly anger and firm determination outside his door. Then came another three heavy raps, before Erik mentally shouted, You know I can get in whether or not you open the door, Charles!
Cursing his moral code for not letting him scramble Erik’s memories and send him away, Charles let out a sigh as he put the rest of the pasta back into the fridge. Then just fucking come in already.
He heard the locks clicking before the door swung open and Erik stalked in, shoulders hunched in his typical looking-for-a-fight stance. However, he relaxed minutely when he finally spotted Charles in the kitchen. “You look like hell,” he finally said. The bags under his eyes were uncharacteristically dark; Erik usually slept like the dead.
“Thank you very much for that,” Charles said sarcastically. “You’re not winning any beauty contests either, my friend.” This was a bald-faced lie. Even when he was exhausted, Erik was still achingly beautiful in a way that made Charles’ throat hurt.
Erik strode over to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway before Charles’ chair which was perched in front of the fridge.
“About last night--” Erik began.
“You’re an arsehole,” Charles said with feeling. “These pranks are not funny, not in the least.”
Erik had the good graces to look a little shame-faced. “Maybe they were, a little,” he muttered. “In the beginning.”
“No, not even then,” Charles said. “It’s dishonest. Deceitful.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll go back to those restaurants and pay them back--” Erik offered.
“I’m not talking about the bloody restaurants!” Charles snapped, as Erik’s jaw dropped open with realisation. “Just-- leave me alone, please? I can’t do this right now.”
They remained where they were for a good long moment, Charles seething and heartbroken while Erik simply stared at him. Stared and stared, until Charles had to take a mental glimpse for the sake of his sanity.
Erik was ecstatic. In fact, he was dangerously on the verge of that stupid shark grin of his, and the only thing stopping him was Charles’ obvious distress.
He risked a peek up at Erik. Now the arsehole really was smiling.
“You really are a terrible telepath,” Erik said, hands slipping into his pockets. “I mean, not your actual ability, that is staggering. I mean-- you’re terrible at reading people.”
This was making Charles’ headache worse. “I’m going to need you to get to the point.”
In a horrible facsimile of the previous fake proposals, Erik dropped down to one knee again in front of Charles’ chair, sans ring this time. “What if I say I’ve been pretending this whole time?”
Charles made an impatient noise. “I’m aware of that--”
“No, listen, you brilliant, stubborn man.” Erik’s eyes were a little too bright. “The proposals were never fake. Never.” His voice was softer this time. “I’ve been pretending that they mean nothing. But they don’t.”
Now it was Charles’ turn to stare slack-jawed at Erik, letting Erik’s words sink in. Instantly his mind ran through those memories again, perfectly slotted in his brain like index cards. Erik, holding out his ring, regarding Charles with warmth and affection and so many emotions that Erik hadn’t known how to lay on the table without the pretense of a big gesture that he could run and take shelter in if it all went wrong.
“Erik,” Charles said with a strange laugh, which Erik quickly muffled with his mouth. They broke apart to take everything in again, and Charles just had to kiss Erik again and again, at least until his eyes were no longer wet.
When Erik finally found his voice, he quietly said, “I’m not exactly asking you to marry me now, but-- is there a name for a thing when you propose to someone to go out on a date? Like a real, real date?”
Charles hurriedly wiped at Erik’s reddened eyes. “I think it’s just called ‘asking someone out’.”
“Fantastic.” Erik’s grin turned sly. “And I promise, I’ll pay for dessert this time.”
Charles laughed his first real laugh in weeks.
Restaurant #63: GENOSHA GRILL HOUSE KOSHER RESTAURANT
“So,” Darwin said, hands linked with his now-husband Alex. “Let me guess. Did Erik propose right after you guys left our restaurant?”
“Actually, it was a while longer after that,” Charles said, watching as Erik was dragged by his parents to welcome some older relatives from Florida. “Much longer, but I wasn’t really counting.”
“Cool,” Alex said, holding out his hand. “Congratulations again, man. Enjoy your big day.”
“Thank you,” Charles said, shaking hands with both Darwin and Alex. On his finger, his titanium ring pulsed warmly against his skin.