Each of my names marks its own sin.

They were curious philosophically, if nothing else, as he had given them a markedly different lecture on mutations and ethics than most any other teacher here. It was closer to Miss Frost’s approach than anything else, but they couldn’t ask any further questions of a dead man.

And really - they only had this narrow window to be the heralded heroes of the hour. Maybe it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, but in her normal form Sophie preferred some form of action to inaction. He might or might not feel differently now that they had cleared the steps into the Professor Housing, but that wasn’t for them to judge.

“What’s a hero without a villain trying to mess it up somehow?” Erik asked... one of them. Whoever was on his left. Normally, he could have searched their blood to identify who was who. Who had the fastest heartbeat, who had the highest blood sugar or pressure. There were plenty of ways, but right now, he could barely see in front of him, much less identify someone by the flow of their blood.

One of the diamond sisters stepped back, letting the other that had been holding his shoulders grab him under the shoulders, and another picked up his legs to speed their progress. They looked ridiculous, they agreed, but they were now making much better time to the professor housing. They were definitely not going to get commendations if Professor Cohen bled out halfway there.

Erik wasn’t even aware they’d caught him until some adrenaline kicked in. His blood started rushing and his powers inadvertently did what they could to clot at his wounds to try and save their host. His vision slowly came back, though he doubted he could actually do anything worth while.

Not that he needed to, as they were now completely carrying his dead weight across the campus. 

Were it not for their emotionless state the line would have been scolding or sardonic rather than blithely informative. Professor Cohen seemed intent on making things worse for himself. He was taller than they were, even like this, and it took some doing to drape his arms over their diamond shoulders to move him along toward the professor housing. One step, then another. No discussion of the eventual distance, just looking at each next step they had to take.

One step, one step, three extras hovering around the Cuckoos at the center to ward off any intruders. If he passed out they would just carry him back - more efficient, but they doubted he would permit something so undignified so long as he only looked dead.

Erik followed along as best as he could. But, with his vision going in and out every few steps, it was proving to be one of the more difficult things he’s done in so long. He knew they were speaking, or one of them was. But, it fell on deaf ears. It was more of a mumble than anything and he would have told them to speak up had he been able to talk anymore.

A grunt escaped his lips, not a complaint though. Mostly from the pain soaring through his chest as he held his breath and forced his limbs to move so they weren’t taking all of his weight. He hated relying on people. 

Personally, they thought he ought to seek medical attention. Or that boy Miss Frost had mentioned, the one with the healing powers. They could always remove his memory of the incident of Professor Cohen was quite devoted to his failed attempt at a covert return. If they weren’t in diamond form Sophie would have objected to such a blithe suggestion, but they still had the more immediate problem.

“Here,” two diamond girls said, moving in on either side. “We can get you to the professor housing, we’re stronger like this. And you won’t get far if you injure yourself further in the attempt.”

Erik looked from side to side, taking note that they’d turned diamond. Much like Emma. It almost had him laughing. If only he didn’t have pain radiating through his chest. He managed to get to his knees, but then he had to physically rely on them for absolute support. He was only just barely keeping himself conscious. 

So much had changed in twenty-four hours and what Charles wanted and what he needed were very different things. Erik was a part of Charles’ life that he was yet to categorise, so, for now, it was best to keep clear. If they were so bad for each other but unable to live without each other, then Charles needed to stay away. He wouldn’t die a lonely man like the professor so many mourned because his heart was constantly breaking over Erik Lehnsherr.

When he eventually pushed into his apartment, hair awry, he paused, instantly sensing the fog of a mind that should be familiar… then there was the smell of blood. Then there was red.

Charles’ voice was practically a scream as he went to Erik’s side, his eyes wide. “Erik, I am so sorry! Erik, what happened?” he quickly looked at him, desperately trying to work out the extent of the damage. He should have come home. God, he shouldn’t have just walked out.

Erik’s eyes fluttered for a moment at the panicked tone Charles was using. He was clearly too exhausted and out of it to do anything. His body turned and managed to roll onto his back before it seized up from the pain that shot through him. His fingers dug into the cushion as he forced himself to breath through it. Said being centering in his chest and making it a difficult task, but he did alright.

Collapsing against the couch like dead weight from just that little bit of exertion. He finally opened his eyes and looked at the blurry figure. He couldn’t make out his face, but he knew it was Charles without a doubt. 

★ what kind of phone do they have?

Something basic, but still... but still with the times? Like he wouldn’t have a Galaxy or iPhone. Like probably a ZTE grand or something like that.

☆ what is their phone’s background?

Erik was basic, so it was the background the phone came with until he got a kitten.

Yeah... he’s that person.

✪ their standard ringtone?

Lass Mich Fallen -- Panik.

❉ do they have any pictures on their phone?

bonus points if you know who this issssss.

✯ what do their texts look like? do they use emojis often? what kind?

He rarely uses emojis and when he does, he’s trying to be a dick about something. He texts... with accuracy. He doesn’t like writing ‘dont’ without the apostrophe. He can’t not use commas, or capitalize what needs to be capitalized.

✦ the first five names on their contacts list?

answered.

⍟ any games on their phone? what kind? how often do they play?

Angry birds because he has a lot of aggression he needs to get out.

✹ five - ten songs on their iPod/phone? 

He only really listens to music when he’s running.

1. Vorbei - Panik.2. Lass Mich Fallen - Panik.3. Revolution - Panik.4. Bodies - Drowning Pool.5. Enter Sandman - Metallica.6. Die Young - Ke$ha. (looking at you, emma)7. ‘Till I Collapse - Eminem.8. Drag Me Down - One Direction.9. Thunderstruck - AC/DC.10. I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At The Disco.

Besides the clearly German asf songs, the others you can blame on Emma because she introduced him to music of this century. 

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, though. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up (whether it be with help or on his own) for a good while. He managed to stay awake for a few minutes, concentrating on clotting the blood of his wounds before he passed out from the exertion.

When he woke again, the sun was shining and he could feel the locks of the front door turning. While he didn’t think he could do much more, he managed to make sure none of the blood was fresh on his legs, arms, chest, and lip. And, to make sure nothing was broken, his hand raised to show a 3-d scan of his sides. Unluckily, he had a few broken ribs and his left wrist was broken. But, it was all manageable.

His hand dropping against his chest just as the door opened, he tried to turn his body only to end up coughing against the cushion and getting a few fresher stains on it. 

Erik, despite having known many, many mutants throughout his life time. Had never met anyone who could go invisible. He had so many questions. And, while he could have easily asked the young woman sitting across from him said questions, he was more of a physical guy. To find out if she could phase through things while invisible, he lifted his fork with some crushed latke on it. 

ꕥ what’s usually in their trouser/jacket pockets or purse?

Money, ID, and several credit cards each with a different name. He doesn’t keep them in a wallet.

☘ how many keys do they have? for what? do they have any key pendants?

✦ the first five names on their contacts list?

Considering it’s in alphabetical order automatically (as most contact lists are), it doesn’t really matter nor show a preference of who he likes to talk to more, etc.

♋ do they read any newspapers/magazines? what kind? what topics are they interested in? do they flip forward to the cartoon page first?

SU Press and the newspaper of the nearby city. He does browse on the internet for world news, but it’s something he does weekly. He’s mostly interested in politics and whatever America is fucking up in other countries.

♎ is their closet tidy or are the clothes just being thrown inside or lying on the floor?

Attacking Shaw was a stupid thing to do. He was made to feel like an adolescent who didn’t think things through all over again. Toss aside with the mere swipe of a hand. But, this time, he wasn’t just thrown into a work unit and deprived of (very little) meals and sleep. This time, Shaw had no problem beating him to a pulp. He no longer had used for him. Mutants were not common these days, but they were not rare and unheard of as they had been during the war.

Luckily, they hadn’t brought attention. Meeting off school grounds. Sure, the warehouse had received a deal of damage, but it was in the middle of nowhere. While, he had no care if Shaw was found out to be Schmidt or... whatever his real name was. He couldn’t afford to be found out as Magneto. 

Now, making it back to campus? There was the problem. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, or why Shaw hadn’t just killed him in his unconscious state. But, when he’d woken up, he felt... relieved. And, sore, and like he was dying. Which, he probably was. 

He’d tried to make something with his powers to wheel himself back. But, using them consumed energy and every time he tried, he managed a few minutes before he was collapsing from the pressure. Walking was his own solution. All he knew was that he left sometime when the sun was in the middle of the sky, and arrived (finally) when the sun had set and most wouldn’t notice his injuries unless they were close.

Why he was hunched over, and relying heavily on the buildings to keep himself of the ground -- well, he hoped they would just assume he was a drunk. Those seemed to be common on campus.

What he hadn’t expected was to get turned around on campus. He could barely focus. Could barely breath with the sharp pain in his chest. He’d been trying to go to the dorms. He couldn’t go to the medical wing, they’d ask too many questions. He had to get home. Sleep, focus on clotting his injuries and increasing his blood flow. 

When he hit the ground. He hit it hard. His vision went black for a moment and when he managed to collect himself and actually look around, he saw that he must have bumped into someone. Or... several someones. Or, maybe he was just dizzy or hallucinating. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

His eyes fluttered for a moment as his body begged for rest. Even taking a moment to catch his breathing was a mistake. He stumped into a coughing fit, blood dripping from his mouth as his forehead pressed uncomfortably against the concrete.

On instinct, said blood raised from the ground and came together in a bubble before morphing into a gun to aim at the people near him.