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The bar was relatively empty for a Friday night, and after spending your day at the crowded campus of your college, you were revelling in the quietness. You were sat at the counter sipping on a glass of whiskey, staring ahead with glassy eyes, spaced out.
Your head was pounding with what was surely going to become a migraine, as it had been since you arrived on campus that morning. Thankfully, your last exam for the semester was today, so you no longer had to study or prepare for assessment, at least for a few more weeks. The alcohol was helping with the headache, though you were aware that if you overdid it, your head would be even worse tomorrow.
You sighed, leaning back in the chair and brushing a hand over your face. You knew that college was becoming too expensive for you to handle, and that you needed to put in more hours at work, especially if you wanted to move out of your trashy apartment and away from your jerk of a landlord. You didn’t know how you were going to keep paying for tuition; it seemed you would have to stop attending, at least for a little while. On one hand, if you left college you would be able to get more shifts at the café and earn more money, and eventually, hopefully, move into a bigger living space, but on the other hand, you would probably never be able to leave the small town you were living in without a proper degree or career.
You tipped your head back and downed the rest of the whiskey, resting your head onto your palm. You had known that finances would be a challenge when you moved away from your mother two years ago. But despite your money troubles, you didn’t regret leaving at all. Your life was so much better now, and with your mother’s alcohol addiction and somewhat abusive nature, money had been a problem anyway. You were just glad you got away before things got any worse.
Placing your empty glass back on the counter, you shook your head, pushing all thoughts of your future and past away. Tonight was a night to celebrate the end of the semester, and after another glass of whiskey you would go home and watch bad soap operas, maybe order in some takeout.
However, before you could raise your hand to signal over the bartender, a man placed himself on the stool next to yours.
“Hello there,” he smiled. His words had a sophisticated lilt to them, and you realised with a small margin of surprise that he was English.
“Hi,” you replied softly, returning his smile with a small one of your own.
“I’m Charles Xavier.” He held out his hand for you to shake. He had rather pale skin, and a full head of brown hair. His eyes were a sparkling blue, and he smiled with bright red lips and a few white teeth.
“(Y/N) (L/N),” you shook his hand; he had a firm but sure grasp. He waved at the bartender, beckoning him over.
“A beer for me and another whiskey for my friend here,” he handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “You can keep the change.”
“How did you know what I wanted to drink?” Your brow furrowed in confusion.
“Trade secret, I’m afraid,” he smirked, and tapped his temple knowingly. You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, but didn’t press the subject. “So, what’s a lovely looking individual like yourself doing here alone? Surely you have a special someone waiting for you?”
You thought that his vocabulary and manner of speaking seemed very mature for someone of his age, or perhaps you were underestimating how old he was. He couldn’t have been that much older than you, though. You shook your head, and chuckled, somewhat nervously. This man was very attractive, with those cheekbones and his confidence, and it was making you jittery.
“No, actually. Just little old me,” you chittered. His smiled again; it was becoming very endearing to you. You absent-mindedly realised that your headache had ceased and disappeared whilst you were talking to him.
“I’m honestly very surprised at that,” he commented. You blushed, and ducked your head, staring at the glass of whiskey that the bartender had just placed in front of you. “Do you study at the university nearby?”
“I do actually; my last exam for the semester was today,” you nodded. “So I’m here to celebrate.”
“Oh, well, congratulations then,” he raised his beer in a toast, and you knocked your glass against it, giggling – giggling? You hadn’t giggled since high school. “What are you studying?”
“Literature and writing. I’m going to become an author, or, at least, I’m planning to,” you admitted.
“Well then, I should probably get your autograph so I have proof that I met you,” he laughed. “You know, before you become famous.”
You chuckled along with him, becoming more comfortable with him as the moments went by. When you quieted down, you realised that he was staring at your face with a soft smile.
“Did you know that freckles are a mutation?” Charles asked. You subconsciously lifted a hand to your nose, which was spotted with freckles. He must have sensed your discomfort. “No, no! Don’t be uncomfortable about it. Mutation has allowed humankind to become the dominant life form on this planet, and it creates variation between the generations so that we are all different.”
“Wow, you sound like you know your stuff,” you observed, very impressed. This guy seemed really smart.
“Oh, I do. I studied genetics at Oxford University.” You raised an eyebrow at this; he definitely was intelligent. “Freckles are caused when melanocytes are exposed to UV light, which makes them produce melanin so that your skin darkens to protect your DNA. Freckles are a mutation, and a very groovy mutation at that.”
“Do you use that line on all of the people you flirt with?” You laughed, and he was momentarily surprised. You giggled again at his bewildered expression.
“He does actually; and surprisingly, it normally works.” You spun around on your seat, and were surprised to find another stunning man beside you. This man was taller, with sharper features, though he was still amazingly handsome.
“Oh! Hello,” you smiled. On your other side, Charles was glaring at the man.
“My name is Erik. Erik Lehnsherr,” he extended his hand to you.
“I’m (Y/N) (L/N); pleased to meet you,” you placed your hand in his, expecting him to shake it. Instead, he raised your hand to his mouth and lightly kissed your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. You blushed, feeling rather exposed.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he let go of your hand and smirked.
“Always the charmer, aren’t you, Erik?” Charles narrowed his eyes at the aforementioned man. Erik chuckled in response.
“Oh, no, Charles. I’ll leave that job up to you,” he continued to smirk. Your gaze flicked between the two of them.
“Wait – you guys know each other?” That couldn’t just be a coincidence.
“Yes, we are friends.” Charles continued to glare at Erik, whilst Erik only continued to smirk at him, mockingly. It came as a surprise to you that Charles seemed almost jealous, and it appeared that Erik was intentionally provoking him. “Now, as I was saying before Erik here interrupted me, freckles are a mutation.”
You nodded, sensing that he was leading up to something else.
“However, they are a mutation that is not beneficiary, unlike mutations such as extra toes, webbed fingers, or even superhuman abilities.” Charles stared at you with a raised eyebrow, as if he was implying something, and, when you looked at Erik, he was looking at you with the same expression. And then suddenly it dawned on you… Was he referring to your powers? He couldn’t be; no one knew about that part of you. “Erik, show her.”
Erik waved his hand, and you gasped. The metal cap of Charles’ beer bottle was floating in the air.
“Oh my God,” you breathed. “You… You’re… Oh my God.”
You couldn’t form words; you had always thought that you were alone.
About five years ago, in your senior year of high school, you had discovered that you could manipulate water. It was small things at first, like accidentally turning the water in your bottle to ice, or stopping your roof from leaking. Then it escalated, to mishaps like somehow increasing the water pressure in a school fountain to drench Jessica Rylie, the school bully. However, you could never control the ability, and only frustration or anger seemed to unleash your full potential. If you focused enough, though, you could do little things.
“Its okay, (Y/N). We are like you, we are mutants,” Charles placed a reassuring hand on your back. “You are safe; you are among friends.”
Your head turned towards Charles so fast that you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash. You had heard him speak and yet you hadn’t at the same time.
“Erik can manipulate magnetic fields; I, however, can read and communicate with minds, among other things,” Charles explained, smirking proudly. You were beginning to wonder if you were dreaming. “Darling, if you don’t mind, can you tell us what your ability is?”
“Oh, um, I– I can move water, and stuff,” you replied. You were finding it hard to form comprehensible sentences. “Um, here, watch.”
You focused very hard on the ice in your whiskey, gesturing to it with your hand, and after a few moments, the block melted. You breathed out a heavy sigh; it took a lot out of you. Charles clapped encouragingly, and Erik seemed impressed.
“Interesting, very interesting. It seems that you need help controlling your ability, and that is something that we can help you with,” you looked up at Charles with wide eyes. “We have a place where there are other mutants – that’s what we call ourselves, by the way, as the abilities we possess are actually mutations caused by something we call the X-gene, its all very fascinating, really, and–“
“Honestly, Charles, you’re going to bore her to death before we can help her at all,” Erik raised an eyebrow at his friend, and you giggled at his comment. Charles blushed, embarrassed at having gotten carried away, his easy confidence faltering for a moment.
“Right, yes, er, sorry about that. As I was saying, there is a base where we have other mutants staying; many of who need help controlling their abilities, like you. You’ll have all the food you need, and it is really quite comfortable there. We would really appreciate if you came with us; you can learn how to unlock your potential, and we could use the extra help,” Charles explained.
It all sounded too good to be true: these strangers were offering you a place to stay, and food, all for free. You might even find out more about your power, and you would meet even more people who were like you. It sounded like the best opportunity you’d had since you got a place at the college. You were still wary, though.
“How do I know that you’re not serial killers who are trying to kidnap me?” You narrowed your eyes at the both of them. Erik barked a laugh and Charles grinned.
“Well, you’ll just have to trust us, won’t you?” He chirped. You stared at him for what seemed like a long time, searching his eyes for something to prove that his intentions were true. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement, but most of all; they reflected the longing to help someone, to help you. Your face relaxed and you smiled, hopping off your stool and dusting off your jeans.
“Well then, gentlemen: we should get going, right?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips.
“Fantastic. I’ll meet you two at the car, then.” Erik jumped up and began walking towards the door. Charles hopped up as well, and went to follow him before you grabbed his arm to stop him. He turned back around, tilting his head to the side. That’s adorable, oh my God, you thought. His pink lips curved up at one side in a resting smirk, and all you could think about was good lord, I want to kiss this man.
Not wanting to be too forward, though, you simply stood on your toes and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Thanks, for everything,” you mumbled, looking anywhere but his eyes. His smirk grew, and before you could register him moving, he leant down and kissed you lightly on the lips. It was simple, and very innocent, but it still made you feel woozy. He had kissed you, as if he could read your mind; and then you remembered that he could. You blushed, slightly embarrassed, but still very happy. He then began walking to the door again. You touched your lips with your fingers, trying to soothe the tingling; you could still feel his lips on yours.
And then you followed him, and even though you may never return to this town, or even this life, you couldn’t help but smile happily. All that remained in your place was your untouched glass of whiskey.