Ohaithere. It's been a while—or at least, I think so—before I've posted anything, right? I've been busy...but that's not really a good excuse because my summer college courses ended on the 30th. Actually, I've been reading a lot of fanfiction—mainly Supernatural (Dean/Cas)—and I didn't really get a lot of inspiration. I found this prompt, though so I thought I'd write it: Charles drunk dials Erik after the divorce crack fill.

It's not very crack-ish, but, -shrugs- at least it's partly.

Also, I'm thinking of writing my first AU, a coffee shop one for X-Men. Either that, or my first ever Supernatural fic, which I am scared to death of writing for, because what if I don't do the pairing justice? What if it sucks? Well, I don't really know if you guys watch Supernatural or not, but which should I do, the coffee shop AU or the Supernatural fic? :l

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: First Class nor do I own it's characters, sadly. Also, that phone number is random, so I'm very sorry if I accidentally put your number on here. Let's just say that's Erik's phone number, 'kay?

Beta'ed by ReadbyRain15 :D Thanks!

The 72nd Time

Honestly, he hadn't meant to start drinking. It was just so hard. Charles wasn't really much of a drinker before he left, before that damn bastard left.

He left him.

And, as Charles believed, he didn't even care one bit about him.

Of course, this could just be the alcohol talking.

As it was said, he wasn't much of a drinker before then. He'd had a couple of drinks here and there, flirting with the women, dying to try out his new catch phrases, but knowing that he'd never gather the courage up unless he got a bit tipsy. And tipsy, he got; he often wandered around the bar, finding women he thought no where to be intellectual or slightly dumb and clumsy, half hoping that they would actually know what the hell he was talking about when he went up to them.

He had tried that once, with Erik. Suffice to say, it hadn't worked very well. Erik was an intellectual, and not much to his surprise, Erik got what he was saying and was incredibly offended when he had mentioned something he normally wouldn't have said if he weren't flirting, or at least, attempting to.

And then he remembered that he was thinking of the damn bastard again, and took another long drink of the whatwasthatdrinkagain? He fucking forgot again.

Oh, there he was, cussing again. He didn't cuss much before he met Er—the damn bastard. It wasn't that Erik had taught him to cuss(;) it was just the aftermath of him leaving. Like the alcohol, this had come after everything.

Charles plopped onto the couch, grimacing as he had felt something on his bottom, and reached down to grab that stupid thing that was blocking him from the comfortable leather couch. He frowned, looking at the object, realizing that it was a phone—his, but he didn't remember this at the time—and pushed a button. And pushed another button. And another.

3

5

6

7

7

1

2

0

1

4

He paused a moment, almost recognizing the number he was entering.

(356) 7712 - 014

He pushed the call button anyway, then stared at the phone for a minute before he put it up to his ear. The ringing made him frown, increasing the little headache he had started to acquire (which would continue to grow into his hangover in the morning) and huffed with annoyance when yet another ring signaled that whoever he was calling still hadn't picked up the phone.

Then there was static, and a muffled, "Hello?"

"...what?"

"Pardon?"

"Pardon...who?"

"I-who is this?"

"Charles Xavier, at your...service," Charles responded, still having no idea who he was calling.

"Charles...? I-why are you calling me at," Erik checked the clock on the wall, "four o'clock in the morning?"

"Who is this?"

Erik paused, "Erik."

"MAGNETO!"

"Erm. Yes...?"

"Hi."

"...hi."

"You're so cool."

"What?"

"Magneto is such a cool name. And you can make metal bend too; that's really cool. You're cool in general, y'know? That's what I love about you," Charles slurred, "I love you sooo much." He dropped the phone, widening his arms to show just how much he loved him. He picked it up again, "That's how much I love you."

"I," Erik cleared his throat, "I love you too."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you leave? You left everyone. You left me."

Then Charles hung up.

That was the 72nd time Charles called Erik, drunk.

He never remembers a thing in the morning.

Review, if you would please? Anonymous reviews are open too, by the way. Also, if you'd let me know whether or not you want that coffee shop AU or the first-ever-omg-I'm-scared Supernatural fic? I can write both, I guess, but I'm not very good at multi-tasking.