Charles is tucked under the blankets to the waist, so Erik's weight pulls on them over his knees. Charles reaches out to smooth the blankets, bring his hands within inches of Erik's, but he retreats without touching him even though he desperately wants to. In fact, he wants to toss the blankets aside and hide his face in Erik's shoulder, but under the circumstances he's almost afraid to.
"Yes, it seems I am." He smiles weakly, folding his hands in his lap. There's no point in denying how much of the bottle is missing at this hour, and he would feel much worse hiding it. Deception is one of the strongest signs of a problem, and Charles hates to lie about anything.
"How are you, Erik?" He knows what the answer is, in its misery, but he asks regardless. He isn't afraid of having concern turned back on him, if Erik thinks it's necessary, but Charles personally doesn't see what anyone would have to worry about. It isn't Charles' life goal that has been snatched from him at the last possible moment in a fit of cosmic unfairness.