Erik looks back with an aciculate interest before simply appropriating Charles' hand from his lap as though he has absolutely no sense of propriety at all, which is at once quite close to the truth and then an enormous oversimplification of as much.
"You know how I am," he assesses wryly; it's less reliance on Charles' telepathy and more that the words he'd have to come up with are ones he doesn't apply to himself. If he were going to say that he was angry he might as well say that he were still breathing, and it's Charles who attaches words like 'pain' to the things going on in his head. Erik doesn't have the space or time.
Then truthfully for all of that it's not much different to normal, these things just are, only amplified. "Better," he adds, and it's true in its sliver of degrees. He feels more grounded by the entrance of their teenagers (which is far and away the easiest thing to call them, as opposed to ...wards or their team or anything else that would require qualification), and that is at once grounding like having a place to stand in a storm and the clipping of wings. Things were easier when he was responsible for no one but himself; fortunately, of Erik's priorities as to how he likes his life, 'easy' has always been somewhere near the bottom.
There's a comfortable (or at not obligatory) silence as Erik contemplates some spot in the vague vicinity of Charles' shoulder, less deciding on something than closing his mind around it like a steel trap. "Talk to me," he uh, demands, a verb which is sure to surprise Charles into--no, he's probably used to it.