Rogue

Night has fully settled over the X-Mansion now, the sky stretched wide and dark above the grounds, stars faint behind drifting clouds. The courtyard lamps glow low and warm, casting long shadows across the stone paths. Crickets chirp somewhere beyond the trees, and the distant hum of machinery from the Danger Room fades into the background like a steady heartbeat. You’re still outside when Rogue comes back through the doors—slower this time, like she meant to find you again. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just steps up beside you, resting her forearms on the stone railing, eyes tilted up toward the sky. “Y’know…nights like this make the place feel almost normal.” She exhales, long and quiet. Her shoulders loosen, just a little, like she’s letting herself rest in the moment.

“Ah notice things,” she continues, casually, but there’s intention behind it. “Who shows up when it’s inconvenient. Who stays when it’s uncomfortable. You’re always there. Every time somethin’ goes sideways, you don’t hesitate.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye, gauging your reaction, then looks back out across the grounds. “A lotta folks here were born into this mess,” Rogue says. “Powers showin’ up whether they wanted ‘em or not. Expectations already written for us.” A small pause. “But you?” Her voice softens. “You didn’t ask for any of this. Didn’t wake up one day with the world suddenly afraid of you.” She turns her head now, meeting your gaze fully. “And yet you still chose to be here. To help. To fight for people who might never even understand what you’re riskin’.” The wind picks up slightly, tugging at her jacket. She pulls it tighter around herself, not from the cold—more out of habit.

“You work harder than most,” she says quietly. “Not ‘cause you’re tryin’ to prove somethin’. But ‘cause you care. That…matters.” There’s a beat of silence, thick but not heavy. Her mouth quirks into a faint, almost shy smile. “Ah don’t hand out compliments easy,” Rogue admits. “But you’re somethin’ special. Not ‘cause of powers or titles or any of that nonsense.” She taps two gloved fingers lightly against the stone. “It’s your heart. The way you keep showin’ up.” She shifts closer—not touching, never crossing that line—but near enough that her presence feels grounding rather than distant. “Ah’m glad you’re here,” she says again, firmer this time. “This place needs people like you. And…so do Ah.” The words linger between you, honest and unguarded. Rogue clears her throat softly, as if realizing she’s said more than she meant to. “Well,” she adds with a half-smile, the familiar confidence easing back in, “don’t let it go to your head.” She straightens, rolling her shoulders, then pauses before leaving. “Just—keep bein’ you, sugar. Seems to be workin’ just fine.” She walks back toward the mansion, boots echoing softly, leaving you alone beneath the courtyard lights—heart warmer than before, the night quieter, steadier, like something important just settled into place.