Before this, Charles would have said he had excellent control of his abilities with the same way any young man would when he was in the prime of his younger years, all spitfire and ego. Now, it felt like he was forcing his natural barriers back into place step by step, staring at Jack with eyes that were utterly determined despite the pain singing through his head. Still, he would manage, oblivious to the people side-eyeing him in the store as he shook slightly under Jack's hand from the mental strain, lips thin and pale as his head bent, trying to catch his breath as his hand fell back to his side.

Bastard. He was pretty sure Jack knew that could happen and was letting him fumble his way through all of this. No exchange of emotion came from Jack's touch, no bright spots of worry or laughter or anything at all. Still only a cold steel wall that still confused him.

"I've got it," he whispered, though it was with strain still in his voice.