Charles' eyes close under the warm overwhelming wave of Erik's thoughts, and before he quite knows what he's doing he tugs Erik's turtleneck up to about midway on his chest and settles his face half against bare skin, curling up even more than he already had. It's not necessarily salacious, but Charles is still in that stage where he can't get enough of touching Erik. It's possible he might never leave it, either, and as far as that goes it's distinctly not the worst possibility in the world.
"I like saying it. How convenient." Charles strokes the firmness of Erik's stomach with his fingertips, and knows at this angle his shoulders spread like a canvas for his barely faded bruises. The next morning he had admired then in the mirror for a moment, even with the anxiety of the day pressing down on him so heavily.
"Will you stay here, for a while?" It's a very soft question, and a little sad in a tender way. He won't say that he's been lonely when he knows Erik needs to keep moving or die, and he's hardly a child to need comforting in strange circumstances--but he missed Erik, and sneaking in and out of his room last night and early this morning was painful even if it is necessary.