Chapter Text
Erik didn’t count his days. He wasn’t the kind to scrawl on walls or forge escape plans or even give a shit about when he’d be released.
When he emptied his magazine into Sebastian’s Shaw’s forehead—that was when he had broken free, revenge releasing him from the cage that was his intolerance of Shaw’s living, breathing, polluting existence.
He hadn’t put up a fight against handcuffs, jail bars, or beatings. He had resigned to being content with the justice he had brought to his parents, even if that meant rotting in confinement as a result.
He didn’t count the days.
So he was profoundly surprised when he was led out of the pen and taken to an office, where his prison overalls were traded for casual clothes and the few belongings he came in with were returned to him: a tattered wallet and a watch that no longer worked.
Could his sentence have been reduced? Was being silent and compliant in his cell counting as good behaviour that would merit an early release? Barely a decade had passed, he was sure of it. Unless time seemed to have fleeted away from him altogether…
Perhaps he should’ve counted his days.
Then the officer announced his bail, and things started to make even less sense.
The woman in the pearl-white Porsche allegedly responsible for Erik’s release wore a face he could not remember. He didn’t know this woman, and he wasn’t sure if it was in his best interest to. She owed him an explanation, though, and her smug glance suggested she wanted to do exactly that. Her arm stretched out to the side and opened the passenger door in invitation.
Erik stepped in warily, shut the door, and placed his hands on his knees.
“First of all: you’re welcome.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say thank you.”
The woman’s laughter was a light, confident sound. “Oh, you will be, Mr Lehnsherr. You will be.”
She seemed to be fanning herself with a sheaf of photographs, and Erik’s eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces.
“I suppose you’re wondering how we know each other,” she began, fixing her hair in the rear-view mirror—no, she eyed the street while pretending to fix her hair. “And as you suspect, we don’t. You don’t know me, but I know almost everything about you, Mr Lehnsherr.”
Erik’s hackles rose. “You knew Shaw,” he surmised, suddenly alert to the locked car door, the tinted windows.
“You’d been imprisoned for six years, sweetie,” she smiled, folding her arms. “All that time to think. Surely you must’ve wondered how simple it was that day, how everything managed to fall into place, and the man just happened to be at the right place at the right time?”
He’d meant to snap and say it took the effort of over ten years to hunt Shaw down, track him from place to place, string together fragments of information from every associate in league with him and build himself into a stronger, more powerful version of himself who lived only for one motive—
But it ran short. The implication was heavy in the woman’s voice. He’d contemplated every moment leading up to Shaw’s death, and there was no ease in locating his Miami villa and hiding inside it, famished and restless, waiting for Shaw to return, but…
“I was aware of you lurking in the garage for twelve days, and I was the one who asked him to make the trip down to see me. It wasn’t all luck of the draw, sugar. I needed him dead just as badly as you did.”
Erik turned his face to the side, returning the woman’s fierce glare. How the woman knew Shaw well enough to be residing in one of his many properties wasn’t his concern—Shaw didn’t just ruin lives, he had ownership of some, but that had ended when Shaw’s life did. Ge looked at the woman—she was still unfamiliar—and tried to determine what she believed she had over him, now.
“You’re right,” he said calmly. “I am thankful. Now I’m guessing there’s something you want from me in return, so if you’d like to begin, please do.”
The woman beamed, dropping her sunglasses on her nose and starting the engine of the car. The photographs in her hand had now landed in Erik’s lap, a name printed behind each.
“I knew you’d be perfect for this.”
They drove out towards the city, and Erik’s eyes drank in the sight of civilisation. People, roads, houses. There was an odd sense of numbness returning to him, though—like he knew that he still didn’t belong.
The three images in his lap were of a man, a woman, and a boy. According to their names, they shared the family name Xavier. Father, mother, and son, then.
“Quite right,” the woman replied to what he had in fact said aloud. “The man - Brian Xavier - died recently. He was murdered. His widow, Sharon,” the woman paused to sigh, “she’s in Rehab. Half a bottle away from joining him. And their son.”
Their son. Erik held his photograph between thumb and forefinger, studying his young features.
“You have two months to kill him.”
---
Erik was stood outside an offendingly enormous mansion with a knife wedged in his left sock and a gun visibly hanging from its holster and he didn’t want to kill a teenaged boy, he really didn’t, not even for the woman he was indebted to.
But Emma Frost was a woman he couldn’t defy. He’d gathered that much about her. And they were allies now, she claimed. His bail hadn’t been cheap, even if he didn’t ask for it, but the sacrifice she made to help Erik kill Shaw—that was worth everything he could bestow.
Worth the life of a seemingly innocent teenager?
He couldn’t be the kind of man who did that. Surely, he couldn’t.
And yet, there he stood.
---
“Why do you want him dead?”
She drew a sigh, clenching the steering wheel.
“It’s a long story.”
“You won’t believe how much time I have.”
“Well, the more you know about it, the harder this will be.” Her lip curled with displeasure. She gave him a once-over, as though assessing if he was ready for what she was about to tell him. Then she said, “Brian Xavier and I were good friends. He even made me the Godmother of his only son.” She inclined her head towards the photograph. “We—”
“If you were friends, why didn’t he help you when you were… captured by Shaw?”
There was no reply.
“Was it you who murdered him?” he asked cautiously.
“No,” she boomed, shaking her head from side to side. “The last thing I wanted was for him to die. What good would that have done?”
“But now you want to kill his son.”
“I don’t—it’s not that simple. Brian was… his net worth was fifty fucking million. He was born disgustingly rich, lived disgustingly rich, and died disgustingly rich. In his will, he gave most of his wealth to his son, the rest to his foundation. On his death bed he was aware of how many debts I had to pay off, how much money I needed—money that was expendable to him—but he only made one change to his will.”
Erik waited as she heaved in a long, bracing breath.
“His son Charles inherits all of the Xavier family riches on his eighteenth birthday, and until then, he is to be kept under the protection of a bodyguard at all times.”
Her disapproval went unsaid.
“That’s a lot of love for a son he barely even looked at, but there you have it,” she muttered.
Erik didn’t understand how that was love, exactly. He ignored the thought. “How will his death benefit you, then?”
“I’m his next of kin. As the Godmother. He has no other… relative. And the mother is, of course, unstable.”
“So that only leaves the bodyguard issue, I presume.”
Perhaps not. The woman smirked, lifting her glasses off to show the delight in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t call that the issue. That would be the solution.”
---
Erik bounded up the steps that led to the door and gave it a solid knock. He was dressed in black slacks, a black dress shirt, and a warm leather jacket. The clothes, some weapons, fake identification, and a kill order was all Frost had given him. He had no money, no home, and no friends.
Still. He could run away from all of this.
He didn’t want to kill a teenaged boy.
The door opened to reveal a tall, stern man decked in uniform and an apron, inquisition in his beady eyes.
“How may I help you, sir?”
Erik cleared his throat.
“My name is Erik Lehnsherr. I’ve been sent here by Emma Frost. I… believe my services have been required to safeguard a Charles Xavier, as of recent, unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes, of course, please do come in,” said the man soberly, stepping aside. “Ms Frost told me to expect you. Come in.”
Frost had informed him about the house staff: a butler, three maids, two chefs, and one gardener-cum-driver. What time they came, what time they left. Which ones to evade and which ones to gain the trust of.
“Master Xavier is—Oh, bugger it, he’ll have my head if he hears me call him that. Charles is having his breakfast right now, so if you’d like to follow me, I’ll give you a tour of the house.”
Erik nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tailed the butler around each corner of the mansion - fifteen rooms, three floors, and—
He was led to his own personal quarters. He had a place to stay. A bed, he observed, large and four-postered, something out of dreams. A dresser, a walk-in closet, and an en suite bathroom.
He poured all of his concentration into looking mildly impressed.
The kitchen was their last destination, and it was empty by the time they reached it, so he was led to the foyer where a young boy stood wrestling with the sleeve-hole of a blue cardigan, fixing it so his head emerged from the right place. He pulled it down his torso, his hair bouncing back up in complete disarray.
Erik couldn’t determine if he was captivated by the boy because this was the person whose life he was supposed to take, or because his sweet, innocent face demanded that much attention.
He cursed Frost. He cursed her for saying this would be easy. That nobody would care if Charles Xavier died, few people would attend his funeral, even fewer would cry.
“Charles, this is Mister Erik Lehnsherr. He will be offering you his protection for the next few months—”
The boy’s eyes widened, flitting between the two men. “But—I thought I’d made it quite clear that this would be completely unnecessary.”
The butler placed his hands on his hips, then moved to untie his apron. “Charles, your Aunt Emma and I are going to ensure that we have done everything to keep you safe. It was your father’s dying wish, my dear.”
Xavier looked down at his feet with a closed expression.
“The person responsible for killing him could’ve been stopped, Charles. We simply cannot take that risk with you. Mr Lehnsherr here is Ms Frost’s highest recommendation, and he will be devoted to keeping you out of harm’s way. Isn’t that right, Mr Lehnsherr?”
Erik nodded, hoping his demeanour didn’t betray his disloyal intentions.
“I—yes of course I will,” he said, cursing Frost in his head.
The boy eyed him with faint curiosity, then flashed a small, half-smile as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. He raised his brows at Erik. “Prepare to be extremely bored.”
Then he swayed out of the front door, shouting a quick farewell, and forcing Erik to jog in order to catch up with him.
Xavier was in his second year of college, he remembered. He didn’t live onsite, and preferred to trek his way to classes instead of having the staff drive him. If Erik’s memory served him right, Frost had mentioned something about Charles wanting to reduce his carbon footprint—whatever that meant. Erik had been in prison for too long to make sense of whatever that was.
So, no. Xavier couldn’t be persuaded to get a lift. They walked through the November breeze, the boy leading the way as Erik followed. He studied their route, watched as Xavier stepped over crispy, deciduous leaves, consumed an apple, and occasionally turned around to glance at him.
Erik preferred the chill of New York to the prickly heat in Florida, and even after serving a sentence, he found he still enjoyed the isolation the Xavier estate offered. The journey to Xavier’s school was entirely peaceful, not a soul of interaction, and the way it cleansed Erik’s mind had him suddenly certain why Xavier was insistent on travelling by foot.
He had to remind himself of why he was here, and how this could come to his advantage. Having been surrounded by criminals for years, he tried to think like one - would these acres of wide, endless greenery help him throw off the police for a while, as they searched for Xavier’s discarded body?
Erik felt sick.
This was supposed to be easy.
They arrived at a series of buildings, and Erik had almost lost the boy in the throngs of students skittering between them, until Xavier had mounted a staircase that elevated his height and brought him back into view. Erik ran to catch up with him just before the boy was about to disappear behind the door.
Xavier turned around, fingers clutching the door handle. He opened and closed his mouth for a while, then pointed his thumb towards the lecture hall.
“So I guess I’ll… see you at the end of the day?”
“No, I’ll be waiting out here for you,” Erik said, leaning against a pillar. The boy frowned.
“I have a two hour period. Then an hour long workshop. And a three hour exam. You’re seriously not going to…”
Erik crossed his legs at the ankles, shrugging.
“Oh. You are.” The boy bit his lip in thought, then shrugged his backpack off and dropped it next to his legs. He unveiled a thick textbook and handed it to Erik. “Here’s something to read.”
Blinking, Erik took it. “What’s this for?”
“So you don’t get bored,” Xavier said it as though it was a ridiculous thing to ask. “Besides, a grown man loitering around the corridors looking like he’s about to murder someone isn’t exactly the kind of scene you’d like to see in an academic institute.”
Fair point. Erik held the book between both hands and lifted it in an awkward gesture of gratitude. Xavier nodded once before leaving for class, and for the next two hours Erik flicked through a Psychology textbook and learned about the wonders of association learning in hungry dogs.
Those two hours passed quickly, as did the next one—Erik followed him as he went from one building to the next, and immediately settled down in the nearest bench to get stuck into the book again. He hadn’t noticed Xavier watching him until he heard him shout, “I’ll quiz you later!” before leaving for his next lesson.
The boy met up with a tall, dark-haired youngster for lunch, and together they sat on the grassy field with stacks of sheets and books scattered between them. Xavier introduced Erik to Hank before they both erupted into sudden conversation, bent over their notes.
Erik sat a small distance away from them, wondering how this had become his life, when Xavier summoned him over. This time he offered Erik one of his sandwiches.
“You must be starving,” he said, concerned, and shook the bag in front of Erik until he took it.
Erik had a gun on him that was meant to kill this boy within the next two months.
He was surprised the sandwich stayed down.
Xavier came out of his exam looking pleased, and after parting ways with Hank, he rejoined Erik as they walked home. As promised, he shot quick questions at Erik, who half-heartedly answered back, even though he was inwardly desperate to get each correct.
Before he knew it, they were back at the mansion.
Upon entering they were told that dinner would be ready in an hour, and Erik briefly wondered if he was also expected to join them—he was just the bodyguard, after all. But then Xavier’s voice was in his ears, “remember dinner’s in an hour,” before he’d headed into his bedroom, and Erik had slowly walked away into his own.
He found sweatpants in his closet and changed into them, happy to be ridded of any weapons. He rediscovered the gym down in the basement and proceeded to work himself to fatigue, draining his energy under weights and on machines. He headed back up into his room for a quick shower before making his way into the kitchen, pleasantly exhausted.
Even if they’d thrown him last week’s leftovers, he’d have been sufficiently satisfied. Instead, he was presented with a three-course meal: a bowl of soup with bread to start, followed by a portion of vegetables and smoked salmon, all leading up to a generously layered trifle for dessert.
He was embarrassingly full as he polished his plate with his fingers, but when he glanced around him, all eyes were trained on the young master of the house.
Xavier was eating slowly, contemplatively; the entire kitchen staff were looking on like they were awaiting a verdict. Brian Xavier’s death was still a fresh impact on their lives, and the eagerness to please his only son was apparent in them all.
Erik tried to imagine Frost sitting there, the same kitchen staff hovering around her as they waited for approval or dismissal.
“Thank you for that, it was splendid,” Xavier announced, pushing his empty bowl away from his reach. “But you didn’t have to go through all of that trouble for me. You know I would’ve been equally pleased with beans on toast.”
The butler grinned, ruffling Xavier’s hair.
“Charles, it’s no trouble whatsoever. We all enjoy giving you the finest treatment, and you deserve it.”
The boy sealed his lips into a smile instead of protesting and lifted his head to meet the eyes of everyone standing around him. He pushed his chair back and stood, placing his crumpled napkin in his bowl. “I know it’s… strange, with him permanently gone, but… the fact is, he’s never coming back. I’m extremely aware of that, and though I appreciate what you’re all trying to do, I urge you all to stop pretending for me like he’s still here.” Xavier wrapped his arms around himself. “Because let’s face it. How often was he?”
Then he excused himself and left, everyone still and listening as the sound of his feet against the floorboards faded.
Erik swore to himself that he would do his best to avoid getting earfuls of anymore conversations, lest he also wanted to stew in the tense silence that pervaded the Xavier estate that evening.
---
The next morning, Erik was sleeping in.
A bed that comfortable should be nowhere near him, he thought, wrenching himself out from under the warm sheets to get washed and ready.
Xavier was significantly quieter throughout the day. He didn’t even meet up with his tall friend Hank, nor would he talk to Erik, and it should’ve been a relief that his day turned out to be short and silent—they were walking home before he knew it—but it was peculiar all the same.
Frost would be calling him tonight, so he decided to settle in the lounge for that evening. Xavier, he’d checked, was working in his study, but only an hour after Erik had sat down with a book from the library to read, the boy was ambling in.
Erik looked up and shut the book he was reading, focusing instead on Xavier as he crossed his legs and tucked into the rocking chair opposite him.
“Hi,” the boy said, hands in his lap.
“Hello,” he replied, sitting up.
“Are you not completely bored out of your mind yet?” Xavier asked, inclining his head to the side.
Erik gave the question some thought. How would a dutiful bodyguard answer that...
“The more uneventful my job is, the better that is for you.”
Xavier gave his head a slow nod. He placed his hands on the wooden armrests of the chair and began rocking himself back and forth.
“Don’t you have any family - or… you know, isn’t someone expecting you to be—”
“I don’t,” Erik cut in, inadvertently harsh. “There’s no-one,” he added. He ducked his head to run his fingers over the pages of the book.
Xavier’s chair stopped rocking.
“Ah! Just the people I was looking for!”
The butler’s cheery voice interrupted whatever ridiculous apology Xavier was about decant, and Erik had never been happier to see the man.
“Charles, dear boy, I hope you know what tomorrow is,” he prompted, hands behind his back.
Xavier scratched his ear in thought. “Saturday, so… um… I don’t… recall.”
With a sigh, the butler revealed the invitation card he’d been holding behind his back. He waved it in front of the boy in reminder.
“The charity dinner in honour of your father. It’s tomorrow night. You promised you’d go.”
The boy’s head tipped backwards and he let out what sounded like a remorseful groan.
“What’s that I hear?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.”
“You’re even allowed to bring a plus-one.”
Xavier made a face. “Why not a minus-one. Then I wouldn’t have to go.”
The butler glared at the boy, impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for him to stop smiling at his own joke. Erik put his elbow on the armrest so he could cover his mouth with his fingers.
“Lots of people will be expecting to hear from you, Charles. Master Brian’s friends, colleagues—”
“It was his colleague who killed him,” Charles pointed out sullenly, tracing a loose thread on his sweater.
Crouching down to meet his eyes, the butler gently replied, “I understand that. But there are also good people who care about your welfare, and organised the entire event hoping you will attend. And if it’s your safety you’re worried about, then you should know that’s no longer a problem. Mr Lehnsherr here will be escorting you at all times.”
Oh. Right. Of course.
Erik begged, absolutely begged to differ, where Xavier’s safety was concerned, but all he could do was nod his head and reaffirm.
“He won’t let anything happen to you.”
Xavier watched his eyes as he nodded again. The boy shrugged, relenting. “Alright,” he mumbled.
“Good. Now come along with me.”
Just as they were leaving, the telephone rang. Erik almost bolted out of his chair to get it, but the butler was there already.
“Good evening, Xavier residence. Ah! Ms Frost. Yes, right away.”
He was gestured over to have the receiver. Erik calmly went to take it, thanking the man, then put it to his ear. He didn’t speak until he was certain both the boy and the butler had left.
“Frost, it’s me. I’m alone.”
“Oh, no offence sugar, but you’re really not my type.”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Listen it’s been… going well here. They trust me already.”
“Yeah. That’s because they trust me.”
“And you were right, he doesn’t keep much company.”
“So how long ‘till I’m rich?”
Erik gritted his teeth. “I need to wait for the right time. You said I have two months.”
“The longer you take, the more difficult you’ll be making it for yourself.”
That would be the best advice she’d ever given him.
He should’ve listened.
---
In all honesty, he didn’t know what to expect when they got there. He imagined a selection of dismayed rich people gathered around a dinner table, but he couldn’t be more wrong.
Xavier was silent when the car pulled up at the front of a lavish hotel, ushers instantly appearing at each door to let them both out. Their chauffeur went ahead into the parking lot as they headed into the reception, and unlike the other guests, they were herded right into the hall without delay. Xavier was approached numerous times by various people—some offering condolences, some sharing anecdotes about his late father, while others inquired about his health. When they were seated at a front table, a small crowd had gathered, and by now even Erik could tell that the boy’s weary smile was fighting to stay on his face. The more he was told about his father—how they had the same eyes, the same intellectual prowess—the more his expression wilted.
The stage was taken, eventually, the speaker requesting silence before he began his speech. He dove into a detailed presentation about Brian Xavier, which meticulously documented the man’s professional work and research projects as a prolific nuclear scientist, and then ended with a long eulogy about what a wonderful friend, husband, and father he was.
With his alcoholic wife, Erik thought, his deceitful friends, and his son who was currently—
Gone.
Erik searched the room as wine glasses were raised for a toast, and only belatedly realised that the restroom door was still swinging from impact.
He surreptitiously loped out of the hall and into the restroom, finding relief in the sight of Xavier leaning over a sink, a hand clutching his chest.
“Hey, you okay there?” he asked, uncertain of whether he even should be.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” the boy answered. “This suit’s uncomfortable,” he insisted, loosening his tie. He looked up into the mirror, at his reflection, then glanced at Erik’s above. The boy’s eyes were welled up, his mouth downturned.
“Should I… can I… um, do you need—anything?”
He was hellishly terrible at this.
“No, I’m good.” Xavier scrubbed a hand over his face, then screwed the tap open. He splashed water over his face three times. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Erik muttered.
“Sorry if I scared you. I know you’re only trying to be helpful.”
Erik swallowed.
“I just,” the boy heaved a sigh, his face dripping wet as he stood to his full height. “This whole thing is weird. All these people talking about my father—like, like he was this amazing person who did magnificent things. And I can’t… I don’t know this person they’re talking about. I didn’t know him at all.” The boy shook his head, beads of water falling from his hair. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”
“No.”
Xavier looked up at him with watery eyes. Erik ripped off a sheet of paper towel and handed it to the boy.
“You’re not terrible. It’s not your fault he didn’t have any time for you.”
“Isn’t it? And—what if I had pleaded with him to spend time with me, would I be feeling worse right now? Having had cheerful memories with him? Is the feeling of not knowing who my father even was supposed to be a small mercy?”
That was a great deal of sadness coming from such a small voice, and it made Erik forget, for a while, why he was even here, what he was supposed to be doing.
He stepped closer to the boy and waited for their gazes to meet.
“I was about your age when I lost both of my parents. They were all I had, so yes... I was extremely close to them.” Erik scuffed his foot against the tiles. “I was hurt and angry and I couldn’t even deal with the pain. My life was suddenly bereft of the people it revolved around. It was hard for me to cope and move on.”
He was about to continue, perhaps go too far, but Xavier had his hands held up.
“Oh dear—I’m—I didn’t mean to sound so self-centered, I really didn’t—”
“No I understand what you’re trying to say.” He’d had an awful lot of time to think about it, too, behind dull grey walls. “You shouldn’t feel bad if it hasn’t… affected you. I know I constantly wished it would hurt less.”
“I’m sorry it hurt so much.” Xavier lowered his gaze, tucking a damp lock of hair behind his ear.
“I’m sorry you were forced to get used to their absence,” Erik said in response, heavy-hearted.
Xavier lifted and dropped a shoulder, like it was nothing, as he mopped his face dry. His eyes gradually flitted up towards Erik’s again, and it seemed like he was shyly peering up from beneath his lashes, hoping Erik was looking back.
There was a strange intensity to their silent exchange. Erik shouldn’t be looking back so boldly, that he knew, but he shouldn’t have spoken to the boy about something so personal either, and he shouldn’t have even started a conversation, just tugged the kid out and told him to suck it up.
So this quiet moment of eye contact was harmless in the bigger picture.
“I want to go home,” the boy whispered finally. “Please?”
Erik nodded. “Alright.”
They slipped out through the fire exit and remained unnoticed as they headed out into the parking lot for their car, Erik informing the chauffeur it was time to go.
Xavier rubbed his eyes as he got inside, making a small noise of contentment when Erik joined him, their shoulders touching.
The boy remained leaning against him throughout the journey home. Eventually his head found support on Erik’s shoulder, and his legs came up on the seat. He’d fallen asleep, and Erik didn’t dare to move once, even telling their driver to go slow and stay on the smooth roads. It kept the ride peaceful for them both, but presented a problem when Xavier was too heavily asleep to be woken up.
Erik attempted to shake him awake, but the boy was open-mouthed and dreaming and nothing about his angelic sleeping face could’ve convinced Erik to disturb him.
He opened the car door and gathered Xavier into his arms, keeping the boy’s head secure on his shoulder as he carried him out into the night air. He was relatively light, and his hair smelled vaguely like citrus, curling around his cheeks as it dried.
The staircase was slightly difficult, the bedroom door even more so, but by the time Erik had placed the boy onto his bed, he was still deep asleep. Sighing, he sat down to take off his shoes, then gently slipped Xavier’s blazer off his shoulders.
His eyes fell on the tie still around Xavier’s neck. Without thinking, he reached down to carefully tug it off so it irritated him no further. It left the boy’s pale throat visible.
Erik could take his gun. He could have Charles Xavier dead with one bullet straight to his neck, and he could place the gun inside Xavier’s hand before he left, and it would have suicide written all over it: unable to handle the grief of his father’s passing—not to mention how his early departure from the function tonight would substantiate that claim—and separation from his mother, the boy takes his own life with a shot to the neck, painless.
It could be that simple.
And it would all be even between him and Frost, and the tall boy called Hank might cry for a few days, and maybe the butler would too, Sharon Xavier might not even be told, and everything would just go back to normal in no time, and Erik—
Wasn’t ready for that to happen.
Not yet.
He stood up, tossing the boy’s tie and blazer onto a chair. It would be a cold night without the duvet covers, so instead of maneuvering the boy, Erik fetched a blanket from another room and draped it over his sleeping form.
Then he left, feeling more satisfied than he might’ve done if Xavier was shot dead, and—maybe that was the important thing.
For now.
Coward, he was a coward.