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“Come on, Gambit! We never get to go anywhere fancy.”
“You know it’s not my kind of place, chere.”
“These tickets have been bought in advance. Ah can’t lose these! It’s just for one night, Remy.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going. Besides, I’ve got plans for that night. Maybe you can take Jean or Storm with ya to keep ya companied.”
“You really are something, swamp rat. Ah can never go anywhere with ya. Why can’t we do something special? Something that Ah’m interested in?”
Indeed, Rogue couldn’t take Remy anywhere. Her own husband. Not even to something as elegant and enchanting as the opera house.
The whole idea had sparked unexpectedly, one quiet evening while she was sorting through an old drawer. Amid the clutter of memories and half-forgotten things, her fingers brushed against a pair of opera tickets. She blinked, surprised that she had completely forgotten about them. But as soon as she saw the date and the ornate lettering, it all came rushing back.
Back when she and Magneto had a past, however complicated it may have been. Originally, it had been his idea. They'd spoken once, over a quiet moment, about the arts and the humanities over a couple of glasses of wine and a good book. Rogue had admitted, almost shyly, that she’d never had the luxury of attending anything so cultured or refined. To her surprise, Magneto had listened. And even more surprisingly, he had presented her with tickets. A gesture that felt… almost kind.
But like most things between them, it didn’t last. The relationship faded. They went their separate ways. And the tickets? Forgotten, tucked away like so many other remnants of her past.
Until now.
What she thought could have been a lovely opportunity to go with her husband quickly soured. The moment she brought it up, Remy had scoffed and brushed it off with that careless charm he wore like a second skin. But she knew the truth. It wasn’t just a disinterest in the opera. It was a disinterest because it mattered to her.
Rogue pretended his reaction didn’t sting. But deep down, it did. It always did. Moments like this made her quietly question things she hated admitting even to herself. Why had she married this man? This infuriating, charming, reckless man who could never seem to meet her halfway when it came to the quiet parts of life, the thoughtful parts of it.
Oh, Rogue was definitely going. She wasn’t about to let a pair of beautiful tickets, a night of music, and a long-held dream slip through her fingers. Not even Remy’s indifference. No, this was for her. Something she could finally check off her bucket list. A moment of elegance and culture she’d once thought out of reach.
She dressed carefully that evening, choosing a gown that made her feel powerful, not decorative. The kind of dress that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it anyway.
But what was crazier than going alone?
The fact that she called Erik.
She stared at the phone in her hand longer than she should have, thumb hovering over his name in her contacts. Odd, how she has kept his number after all this time. While their relationship had ended, they never left on bad terms.
Still, it was reckless. Risky. A bad idea layered in history and tension. But she still called him. When he answered, his voice was cool and unmistakable. And when she asked, his pause was brief.
“Of course. It would be an honor.” He said to her on the phone.
And just like that, plans were made. No back-and-forth. No hesitation. Just a simple agreement to meet at the opera house, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But they both knew better. This wasn’t simple. This wasn’t normal. This was them. Complicated, loaded with history, and wrapped in the kind of tension that never really disappeared.
They agreed to keep it quiet and go their separate ways, planning to meet directly at the opera house. No need for drawn-out goodbyes or shared transportation that might raise questions. It was better this way, smarter. After all, peace was easier to maintain when fewer people knew what lines were being crossed.
Rogue had no desire to stir the pot. Not tonight. She wasn’t sneaking around for betrayal’s sake. Rather she was protecting her peace. That’s what she told herself, anyway.
And she made certain the X-Men didn’t know by telling them she had made plans for the evening just for herself. No missions, no patrols, just a night to breathe. If Remy noticed or cared, he didn’t say much, didn’t think twice. He went his way and so did she.
Good. Let it stay that way.
As she made her way into the city, Rogue held her head high. Tonight wasn’t about alliances or allegiances. It wasn’t about Magneto or Gambit or even the tangled history between them all.
Tonight was about her.
And the opera.
The entire establishment gleamed with a sense of timeless elegance, a true temple that housed music, art, and architectural grandeur. Its facade was adorned with marble columns, intricate friezes, and golden statues of muses and composers, rose like a jewel from the busy city streets of New York, commanding reverence from all who passed.
However, it was the interior that left Rogue breathless and immediately reminded her of the opera house in Paris. In the center of the room was the grand staircase, spiraled upward in creamy marble, flanked by massive bronze lamps and overlooked by painted ceilings that seemed to breathe with myth and magic. Every inch of the space dripped with baroque splendor, from the gilded moldings to the velvet drapes that swept along the walls like rivers of blood-red silk. Beauty, drama, and elegance were all woven into every architectural line.
Above was the grand chandelier, sparkling like a constellation suspended in a sky of opulence, its countless crystals catching the light and scattering it in soft, golden fragments. The glow bathed the lobby in warmth, softening the edges of luxury into something almost dreamlike.
Conversations hummed like a gentle orchestra warming up, full of cultured tones and polite laughter. But Rogue did not feel out of place. Not tonight.
Removing her coat, Rogue’s evening gown was finally revealed in all its glory. The weight of the moment hung in the air as she stepped forward, the soft rustle of satin was the only sound accompanying her. The gown, a deep, rich emerald, shimmered with each movement, hugging her form in a way that felt both elegant and effortless. The fabric was satin, smooth as silk, but heavy enough to carry the weight of the night with regal dignity. It accentuated every curve of her silhouette. Strong, unyielding, yet undeniably feminine. The flowing skirt of the gown cascaded gracefully as she descended the marbled staircase, each step measured, deliberate, like a dance perfected over time.
Rogue held her head high, the flashing light from the grand chandelier above catching the sharp contours of her face, casting shadows that accentuated the strength behind her beauty. This was no ordinary dress. It was a statement, an embodiment of who she was: elegant, fierce, untouchable. As she moved, it seemed as though the gown itself responded, wrapping her in an aura of self-assurance, and for that moment, this was her night. This moment was carved in time for her alone, and no one, no matter who they were, could take that from her.
“Rogue?”
His voice broke the silence, smooth like aged cognac, resonant and deep, its timbre rich with unspoken weight. It was Erik. She recognized that voice immediately. How could she not? It was a voice she’d heard it many times before. Yet, it always struck a chord deep within her.
Rogue looked up, finding him at the foot of the staircase. Erik had arrived before her, standing near the grand staircase like a figure pulled from a painting. He wore a tailored black suit with a high collar, perfectly crafted to fit his tall, imposing frame. The deep emerald and gold brooch on his right lapel shined softly, a complete contrast to the darkness of his attire, giving him an air of authority, of nobility. His snowy white hair, so often untamed, was neatly brushed back and styled in a simple low ponytail that somehow added to his commanding presence.
But when his eyes met hers, all the carefully constructed detachment melted away.
Erik’s gaze locked onto her with an intensity that made the world around them feel irrelevant. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He simply looked, really looked, as if he was seeing her for the first time. There was rawness in his stare, something vulnerable. As if the carefully built walls he kept around himself crumbled in an instant. His steps faltered, his normally confident stride slowed as he was taken aback, struck by the vision standing before him.
Rogue’s beauty, her strength, everything she embodied, he saw it now, truly saw it, and it left him momentarily breathless. For all his plans, for all his calculated precision, Erik had underestimated how a single glance could shatter his composure.
“Hello there, Erik.” The young woman greeted him with a friendly grin, dimples showing as she stood one step above to meet him eye to eye. “You’re lookin’ mighty swell in your suit tonight. Ah see you’ve let your hair grow longer the last time Ah saw ya.”
The older man couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face, warmth shining behind his usually guarded expression. “And you, my dear, are exquisite. Dressed in starlight and envy’s own hue. Green has ever belonged to you. It wakes the flame in your eyes.”
Rogue blinked, caught off guard, and feeling the heart rising in her cheeks. A hint of surprise crossed her features as his words settled in her chest. It was just a compliment. Simple. Had it come from anyone else, even Remy, she might have brushed it off with a wink and a witty remark. Her usual style. But coming from Erik?
It felt different. Almost poetic. And achingly sincere. Something she hadn’t experienced in a while.
But tonight wasn’t the night for lingering thoughts or tangled feelings. Whatever stirred in her chest, Rogue pushed it aside with practiced ease, tucking it away where it couldn’t complicate things. Instead, she offered him a bright smile, her voice light as ever. “What? This old thing? Ah swear you’re never short of compliments, are ya Erik?”
Erik chuckled, the sound low and almost self-deprecating as he looked at her with something gentler than amusement. “Only when they’re deserved, my dear” He said, his eyes lingering just a moment too long before he turned them away, scanning the gathering around them as if remembering where they were.
Rogue’s smile softened with him, her teasing edge fading into something quieter. “Careful now. Keep talkin’ like that and Ah might start thinkin’ you mean it.”
He looked back at her then, more serious this time, the warmth in his eyes tempered by something older, something worn but sincere. “I do.” He said so simply. No fanfare. No flaunt. Just truth.
Their eyes locked, perhaps for a little too long for comfort, though neither seemed to notice nor cared. The noise of the opera house had long faded into a distant buzz, insignificant against the quiet pull between them. Steel blue met terra green, the contrast striking yet seamless: the sun and moon caught in eclipse, metal drawn to earth.
Perfection…
Rogue blinked, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding slipped past her lips. But even with snapping herself back to reality, the woman still smiled at the man. That glint in her eyes returned, playful and sharp as ever, wrapped in that unmistakable Southern charm. “Careful there, Erik. Ah’m a married woman now.”
Erik arched a brow, the corner of his lips twitching into a subtle smile. Half amusement, the other half something deeper he didn’t dare name.
“So you are, my dear.” He muttered, the words too quiet. Yet, there was a near constraint in his voice, as though something heavier pressed against his chest, something he refused to name. His eyes still never lefts hers.
Then, with a practiced composure he straightened his posture ad cleared his throat, allowing his gaze to drift over the ornate architecture of the main hall. It was an excuse to break the tension.
“Speaking of married women,” he said, voice steadier and cooler. “I must confess I was a little surprised by your phone call and by your invitation to the opera. A pleasant surprise, of course. Especially from you. But why are you not here with him, Rogue? Your… husband. ”
The question hung in the air. Not accusatory or teasing. Careful? Yes. But underneath his guarded tone was a glimmer of something else: curiosity. And perhaps something closer to jealously. But Erik would never admit aloud. But he could not resist in quietly calling himself a fool to be thinking this way.
Rogue’s smile faltered a bit. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. She glanced away for a brief moment until she then looked back at him with a softened that felt rare these days until she replied with the plain truth, no undertone of bitterness in her voice. “He didn’t want to come. Told him how much it meant to me to come here. Said he wasn’t interested. That it wasn’t his thing.”
In that moment, Erik wanted to choke the man. How dare he? How dare her husband dismiss her so easily? To leave her standing there with that soft disappointment in her voice, pretending it didn’t ache? To ignore something that mattered to her, something that brought her joy? All this because it did not interest him in the slightest.
Erik’s jaws locked, the muscles tightening just enough to betray the emotion he kept so carefully in check. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he looked at her, intensely, and felt the old fire simmering beneath his ribs. It was not a rage a revolutionary, but something more personal. Something protective.
“Ah could’ve left it at that and stayed home. Pretend it didn’t hurt.” She continued, her fingers rubbing against each other. “But this night…meant somethin’ to me. The music, the atmosphere, the chance to breathe a little and forget about being an X-Man for one night. To feel…normal yet special. So, Ah called the one person who Ah knew would understand.”
Rogue met Erik’s gaze again, but there was vulnerability, a sense of honesty in her eyes when their eyes locked.
“Ah didn’t ask you because Ah was lookin’ for trouble. Ah asked you because Ah wanted to share this with someone who’d actually shared the same interest as Ah do. Who might see me, even just a little.” Her voice dropped in with a near whisper. “And you showed up. Thank you for that.”
Erik blinked upon hearing her words, briefly at a loss for words. Nothing had quite prepared him for her quiet honesty, for the ache it stirred in his chest.
He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, the older man offered her a sincere, gentle grin reserved solely for her. Then, he reached out and took her hand in his own, lifting it with reverence. His eyes never left hers.
“I’m honored you called me.” He said softly. And he meant it. Every word. Then, with tenderness, he pressed a warm kiss to her. “And I’m here. For as long as you need me.”
Rogue wasn’t sure what to make of Erik’s gentle side. Not that it should have come as a complete surprise. She’d seen traces of it before when they used to be committed. Once upon a time, a time that feels so far away.
But here, this was different. Almost as if it reflected something that…
Then, from inside the opera house, the soft chime of bells echoed signaling for guests to take their seats.
Still holding his gaze, Rogue let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her heart felt heavier than she expected and yet light. And even then, even with all that stirred beneath the surface, she managed to smile. Not the bright, teasing grin she usually wore, but something smaller. Quieter. Real.
“Come on, sugah.” She said gently, slipping her arm around his without hesitation. So natural, so real without a second thought. As if it has always been. “Let’s enjoy what we came here to do in the first place.”
Erik chuckled, light and unguarded. There was no tension in it, no careful calculation. Just something easy and genuine. Like her, it felt natural. “With you? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As they moved together, side by side, he gently settled his hand over her. No claim, no pressure. Just presence and warmth. They stepped through the doors, red velvet curtains, and incoming guests made their way to their reserved seating.
It wasn’t until they emerged into the soft glow of the private balcony that Rogue realized this was their reserved seating. Now she just had to wonder exactly how much Erik paid for this back then. She was nearly speechless. Plush armchairs, and an unobstructed view of the grand stage below. She turned to Erik, her brows raised in disbelief.
“Tell me you didn’t buy out the whole balcony, Erik. Because Ah can’t believe you chose this seating arrangement.” She said.
He gave a faint, amused smile. “Of course not. I only bought the view.”
She shook her head, half-smiling, half-stunned. This had to cost a fortune. And yet, the look in his eyes said it wasn’t about the money, it was about her. Taking her place, smoothing out the skirt of her dress, the young woman leaned back and observed as guests made their way to their seating, chattering echoing through the opera.
“Ah forgot, what exactly are we going to be watching tonight?” She asked. Erik handed her the folded pamphlet and she took it gently from his hand, their fingers brushing for the briefest moment, and opened it with a soft rustle.
“Tristan und Isolde.” He replied, the title rolling off his tongue with a smooth, elegant beat. His German so natural it felt like silk woven into the air between them.
She looked up from the page, one brow arched. “Romantic tragedy, huh?”
His lips curved into a faint smile. “A love that defies duty and fate. Seemed… appropriate.”
Rogue huffed a quiet laugh, turning her gaze back to the program. “Ah’ll try not to take that personally.”
Erik lightly chuckled, his blue eyes quietly observing the motion below them for a moment until he spoke up.
“Back in the Savage Land,” he began, his voice tinged with memory, “when we used to share details of our interests in the library, you were always so curious. Curious about where I came from, my culture, the arts. You asked about opera, about whether we had German plays, and what they were like.” He glanced at her then, something warm and steady in his expression. “I chose this play because of that very reason. To draw your attention. To stir that curiosity again.”
She turned toward him, eyes slightly wide, lips parting with the beginnings of a reply but nothing came. He remembered. Of course he did. Erik always remembered. Always took notice of details no matter how big or small.
Rogue remembered those days. Back to a time when everything felt so simple and unrushed. Mornings spent in the library, books stacked high between them. Debates over philosophy, art, and a future of mutant kind that stretched lazily into the afternoon. Back then, there were no titles, no looming decisions or threats. There were only moments, shared freely, unguarded.
She remembered how he’d listen, really listen, even when she rambled or questioned things no one else took seriously. And now, sitting beside him in this grand opera house, despite everything they have gone through, both as former lovers and as enemies, he still remembered. Still made space for the smallest pieces of her.
Why couldn’t Remy be like that sometimes?
She glanced down at the pamphlet again, then sideways at him until a soft smile played at the corners of her lips. “Guess you always knew how to get my attention.”
“Only because you help me stay focus on what matters.” He replied, his gentle grin never wavering and neither did his gaze. The woman who challenged him, softened him, and reminded him of the reasons behind his outcome.
Rogue felt her chest tighten. Not with pressure, but something far more delicate. Something like trust. Something along the lines of being known. She did not know what to make of it and, yet, in that instance, it all felt real. It felt right.
The lights dimmed and the audience hushed as the orchestra played its first note of the night. Tristan und Isolde had begun. The music, rich and mournful, wove through the opera house, drawing the guests into a tale of forbidden love and tragic fate. Eyes fixed on the stage, hearts already stirred as the audience were surrendered to Wagner’s spell.
It was quite the performance, captivating the audience as they followed along, enraptured by the unfolding tragedy of the forbidden lovers. Every aria, every glance, carried the weight of longing and doom, and by the end, the air was thick with emotion. There was an unspoken acknowledgement of a love both beautiful and doomed.
For Rogue, despite her limited grasp of German, none of that mattered. She didn't need the words to feel it. The music spoke its own language and it was one that she understood the most from her own experience. After all, music is the language of the soul.
From time to time, she would glance back at Erik, offering the older man a soft smile before turning her attention once more to the stage. There was a warmth in her eyes, a quiet acknowledgement shared in those brief exchanges, almost as if checking to see if he, too, felt the pull of the music’s sorrow.
Erik, though appearing still and attentive in his seat, was not entirely present. While the opera unfolded in all its tragic beauty, his thoughts wandered. He was lost somewhere between the melodies and the young woman beside him. Yes, he appreciated the performance, but something else tugged his focus that was far more personal.
His blue eyes, so often cold, distant, hardened by years of rage and bitterness, were softer now, quietly watching her. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his aged face, a rare expression of peace settling over him. Erik savored the moment, his gaze fixed not on the stage, but on Rogue. He studied the way her eyes shimmered, wide with wonder and shadowed by sorrow, utterly absorbed in the unfolding tragedy.
For Erik, this was the true performance. Not Wagner’s sweeping drama, but the silent unraveling of Rogue’s heart. In that moment, she was simply a young woman dreaming. And he was content just to bear witness.
The older man could not refrain himself from admiring just how stunning she looked tonight. There was an air of elegance to her that stole his breath, quiet but undeniable. Her hair, usually left to tumble freely around her shoulders, was now swept up with grace, a few loose strands softening her face in the most delicate ways.
Every detail, every choice, seemed to elevate her natural beauty. But it was the dress that truly struck him. Deep green, rich as an emerald forest or gem, clung to her with effortless poise. Bold, yet refined. Her color, without a single doubt. It brought out the warmth in her skin, the spark in her own green eyes. Erik found himself utterly entranced in her. And for all his years, all his control, he could not look away.
An utter shame that her husband could not see that. Not the way Erik did.
Ah, that's right.
Remy LeBeau.
A ridiculous man, he was. Charming, perhaps, in that careless, infuriating way of his. But still a fool. A fool for not being here, for not seeing the joy etched into Rogue’s face, the way her eyes lit with wonder as the music washed over her.
Yet here she was, seated beside another man, lost in a world of tragic love and aching beauty, and it was Erik, not Remy, who saw her for what she was in this moment: vulnerable, radiant, and alive.
And he wondered what Remy could possibly have done to deserve her. Why couldn’t the man have sacrificed a bit of his time to be here with Rogue, to sit beside her, to indulge in something that mattered to her, even if it meant enduring a few hours of music he didn’t care for? Wasn’t that what love was?
For heaven’s sake,
Rogue was glowing.
And here was Erik as witness to her joy. There was a bitter satisfaction to that. But that’s what it all was to him. Just bitterness. Not just with Remy, but also with himself.
A quiet ache settled in Erik’s chest, unwelcome yet familiar as he sat beside Rogue. So close, yet still so far. She wasn’t his. No matter how deeply he admired her strength, the goodness in her heart, no matter how clearly he saw the beauty in her laughter, her sorrow, her fire, she belonged to someone else. His wife.
His wife...
Erik let the words echo in his mind, slow and deliberate. His wife, but not his wife. The words stung more than he cared to admit. Rogue's joy tonight, her smile, her soft sight as the music swept her away were none for him to claim. He was only a witness, tonight’s companion, a shadow at her side, allowed only this fleeting moment. And though he’d grown used to losing things such as family, faith, causes, this loss was quieter, more intimate. It was not just rage in himself he felt, but grief. Grief for something that slipped away from him and never could be.
What could have been slipped away from him.
What did he do wrong, he asked him. But silence gave him no answer. What fault had driven her away? Was he too intense, too consumed by the weight of his convictions? Had his relentless focus on the mutant cause made her feel unseen, unimportant, too different? The questions lingered like ghosts, never voiced, never answered.
Yes, they had parted on good terms. But there was a finality to it that still gnawed at him. She hadn't left in anger. She'd left in quiet resignation, as if she’d already grieved what they might have been before ever saying goodbye. And now, watching her, her eyes reflecting the tragedy on stage, Erik couldn't help but wonder: what if? What if he had chosen differently? What if he had chosen her?
But that was all in the past. Simply just memories. Now, she was a married woman and he...he was just Magneto, Master of Magnetism. Yet, who was he truly without the helmet and cape in the end?
The sniffling sounds coming from Rogue pulled Erik gently back to the present. He turned to her only to find tears streaming silently down her cheeks, her eyes locked on the stage below.
Ah, yes… the moment had come. The fate of the forbidden lovers had been sealed. Tristan lay lifeless in Isolde’s arms and now she stood alone, consumed by grief and the greatness of their love. In a dreamlike trance, Isolde sings for the final time, her voice haunting and ethereal.
“Erik?” Rogue’s voice as soft, barely a whisper, yet it reached him like a ripple across still water.
The sound of his name stone so gently sent a quiet pulse to his chest. Whatever she needed, whatever it was, he would always be there to answer her. He leaned in slightly, voice low and near her ear. “Yes?”
“What…what is she signing about? What is this song called?”
“Liebestod” He replied, the word both delicate and heavy in thick German. “It means ‘love-death’. It’s an aria. Isolde sings it not just in mourning, but in greatness. She believes their love is greater than life itself. Her grief becomes a release, a surrender to the idea of eternal union with Tristan beyond death.”
“Oh... Oh, Erik, Ah...” She was at a loss for words, the understanding landing heavily in her chest. Knowing the meaning did not soothe the ache but only deepened it. Her breath hitched as she wiped her cheeks, the melody pulling more tears.
Without a word, Erik reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it with a quiet smile. No judgement, no teasing. Only care offered in silk and softness.
Rogue accepted it with a grateful nod, clutching it gently, even as her eyes remained on the stage. And beside her, Erik stayed close, present and steady. Now, he was envying his handkerchief. If only it was him who could wipe her tears away with his hand, a near yearning pulsing directly from his broken heart. Alas, he did nothing and stayed in his place as the aria soared and the curtain slowly began to fall.
The opera has concluded.
Rogue was quick on her feet as she applauded without hesitation. Her eyes were still glassy, her cheek slightly damp, but her expression was glowing with something brighter: appreciation, awe, and a kind of reverence.
Yes, the show had been soul-wrenching, but it was also breathtakingly beautiful. A story that gripped the heart and refused to let go. She hadn’t expected to feel so much in one night, but she was glad she did.
“Now that is what Ah call a performance.” She said, still clapping, and her voice mixed with wonder and emotion.
Beside her, Erik rose more slowly, his gaze still set on her, softly amused and quietly proud as the man joined in the applause. With the faintest smile tugging at his lips, he leaned slightly forward. “I thought it might leave an impression.”
Rogue shot him a sideways glance, a smirk gracing her features. “You knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”
Erik didn’t answer directly. He simply smiled down at her before he offered his arm, the same gesture he had at the start of the evening. No pressure, no claim. Just presence and warmth.
And with a smile of her, Rogue took it. She gently squeezed his arm, feeling the hard muscles underneath the thick fabric of his tailored suit. Strength wrapped in elegance, much like the man himself.
“For what it’s worth, thank you for sharing a piece of your culture with me and... lettin’ me have a good time with you.” She said softly, her voice warm and sincere.
Erik turned his head slightly, just enough to catch her gaze as they walked down the hallway towards the main hall of the opera house. There was a softness in his eyes that few ever saw, a quiet depth that held far more than words could say.
“Hm. It was never just about sharing. It was about giving you something that mattered. And now it belongs to you.” He said, voice low and nearly intimate. His hand settled gently on top of her hand, the warmth of palm grounding. “But I am pleased in knowing you have come to enjoy yourself.”
Rogue looked at him, feeling a soft heat rise to her cheeks. She smiled at the older man a bit bashfully and lowered her gaze, drawn to the sight of his hand resting gently over hers.
Why was she suddenly feeling... different?
“Well, that’s because Ah wouldn’t have enjoyed tonight had you not agreed to come here with me.” She murmured, her eyes twinkling a little. Yet, underneath all that charm and jest, Rogue knew that her husband’s absence still sat heavy in her chest and it was a weight she didn’t want to carry into the evening. But it had.
At least Erik, despite all their differences and history together, had shown up. Had listened. Had seen her. And that meant more than she could admit.
Erik’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little in way that they only did for her. The only woman who could quiet the storm that lived in him. If only she knew just how powerful she was over him.
“We choose our company and I never choose lightly.” He said with confidence.
Rogue looked back up, heart catching in her throat. Yet, she still smiled and squeezed his arm lightly as the two walked down the stairs.
The opera house was slowly emptying, the last waves of patrons drifting toward the grand doors, their voices softened by the velvet-lined walls and high-arched ceilings. But Rogue lingered in the main hall as she came to a quiet standstill beneath the chandelier’s fading glow. She tilted her head back, eyes sweeping across the vaulted ceiling, taking in the ornate plasterwork, the gilded trim, the way each arch and curve seemed to tell a story all its own. Marble columns around her, each one carved with precision and care, standing firm against the passage of time.
She wasn’t ready to leave. Not just yet. She wanted to see it, really see it. The detail. The craftsmanship. The soul.
“Ah just... wanted to admire it a little longer.” She said, more to herself than to Erik. “All this work, this detail... someone put their soul into this place.”
Erik followed her gaze in silence, his own expression thoughtful. He understood. She wasn’t just seeing the building. She was feeling it. And perhaps, in a quiet way, letting it heal something inside her. In this slow pace, Erik shared in this moment. He was always on the move and now was when he could simply indulge on the simplest of things like this, to catch his breath and just be in the present moment.
“Ah wish the night didn’t have to end.” Rogue said, a longing in her eyes as her sight lingered on the golden chandelier in all its splendor. With a wistful sigh, she added. “Too bad everything closes at night.”
“Hm. Not everything.” He said, his eyes fixed on the chandelier. However, he could sense her watching him, those gorgeous green eyes like twin embers in the dim glow. Slowly, he turned his attention to her, a gentle grin tugging at his lips and he could see that what he planned on offering has drawn her attention. “If you’re not ready for the night to end, I know a lovely little place where we can steal a few more hours together.”
Rogue stood there quietly, weighing in on the offer.
“There’s candlelight, good wine, soft music. You might come to enjoy it.” He continued, still grinning and playfully nudged her.
Oh, he was tempting her and she knew it. Rogue couldn’t hold back from grinning. It was a good temptation. She could go for a drink to wet her whistle and, truth be told, she was a bit hungry. A little food, a little company. Why not?
What could go wrong?
“You are a dangerous man, Erik.” She responded to him.
He chuckled. “Hm. But that’s never stopped me.”
Then he really looked at her. Really looked at her and the breath caught faintly in his throat. The chandelier’s light kissed her skin, casting her in gold and shadow. Her eyes held storms and stories, her smile something soft and fleeting, like the final note of a love song.
Gambit, you sick bastard, Erik thought darkly. How could he let this moment slip through his fingers? The joy she radiated. The way her heart was moved by the story? The way she was carrying her husband’s absence tonight like a crown? What an utter shame! And here, Erik was a witness.
“You’re still tempting me with a good time.” Rogue smirked, teasingly squeezing his arm. “But Ah guess Ah shouldn’t complain about that over a couple of good drinks.”
Erik’s grinned, restrained but genuine. It was the kind that hinted at pride and amusement all at once. “Then I’ll fetch us our coat.” He said, a hint of mischief beneath his composure.
Without uttering another word, he turned and made his way toward the coat check attendant, his steps relaxed and confident before reaching for his cellphone to make a call. Rogue watched him got for a moment, the faintest smile lingering on her lips.
Logical would have told her to end this.
To return to the mansion, to the life she built there, to the responsibilities that came with the vows she had taken. Her husband was waiting for her return. The path back was clear and expected. Right, by every traditional measure.
But Rogue hesitated.
She was having such a lovely time. The kind of time that didn’t feel forced, but rather easy and genuine. The longest she’s felt like herself since the wedding. Besides, aside from sharing a good meal, there was Erik. This wasn’t about old flames or tangled emotions. It was about familiarity. Simply to catch up with someone who knew her in a way few others did. Some who challenged and comforted her in the same breath, without asking for more than she was willing give. After all, it was Erik who she called for before the wedding, to seek for his comfort and his assurance.
In the end, they were still on good terms despite everything. Respectfully so. And there was no harm in enjoying that for what it was.
Just dinner. Just company.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸
Erik offered her a ride, taking them to the other side of the city until they reached their destination. It was an Italian restaurant, the kind of establishment that felt one was stepping into another era. The place was small, intimate, and full of charm. Inside, the air was warm and inviting. Deep leather booths lined against the mahogany wood walls surrounding the entire room. Dim candleholders cast a soft glow across the room, catching on the crystal of wine glasses and white tablecloth tables.
Much like the walls, the woodwork extended to the floor, a little worn and scratched as it had stories to tell. Near the back, tucked beneath a softly lit nook, was a small dance floor that had just enough space for a few couples to sway without stepping on each other before a live band and singer performing from the corner.
The entire place gave off a golden haze of elegance. It was romantic without trying too hard, intimate without being exclusive. Laughter filled the air, wine glasses clinking, and the low hum of conversation that said people were not only dining but living here. It was the kind of place made for slow meals, a second bottle of wine, and glances that lingered longer than they should. And tonight was that night.
The only thing that worried Rogue was whether she was overdressed for this sort of place. The opera gown, elegant and sweeping, still clung to her figure. The dress had been perfect under the glow of the opera, but here it suddenly felt maybe a little too much. A little too loud.
As the hostess took her coat, Rogue felt the shift change immediately. Her bare shoulders felt the warm air and while the sounds of conversions didn’t stop, she could feel their eyes on her and it made her a bit nervous.
Her hand instinctively reached for Erik’s arm again, steadying herself from her sudden nerves. “Maybe what Ah’m wearing is a little too much for this place.”
Erik leaned in just slightly, his voice low but certain. “Let them look, my dear.”
She blinked and turned to him, unsure what to make what he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with standing out.” H added, his expression calm and his eyes warm with something that could only be called pride. But behind it, if one looked deeply underneath the hidden layers, there was a quiet, subtle hint of fondness. “Especially when you do it so well.”
Rogue gave a small huff of laughter, the tension in her chest easing ever so slightly. “Guess Ah’ll just pretend this was all part of the plan, then.”
“It always was.” He said, guiding her to their reserved table like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if this moment, this night, had always belonged to them.
“It’s quite the place.” She said, smoothing out the skirt of her gown once she settled comfortably in her seat. Her eyes wandered over the cozy layout, the flicker of candlelight on every table and the soft glint of wine bottles lining the walls. “Don’t think Ah’ve been here before. But Ah find it quite charming.”
“Hm.” Erik unfolded his napkin with quiet grace and set it across his lap, his posture relaxed yet refined. “And the meal here is not only delicious, but consistent. Simple, but nothing of perfection.”
“Then Ah guess Ah’ll have to take your word for it since you know this place more than Ah do.” She grinned, resting her arms lightly on the table.
“Care to share a bottle with me?” He asked, glancing toward the small wine menu already placed beside them.
“If you don’t mind. Which do you prefer?”
“Red wine.” He answered without hesitation. “Thought they do offer a fine selection of cocktails if you prefer. I wouldn’t want to choose anything you might dislike.”
Rogue’s smile deepened as she was touched by the gesture. “How sweet of ya.” She said playfully, but her tone was of genuine appreciation. “But Ah don’t mind tryin’ a few things or you takin’ the lead on this one. How about you surprise me tonight?”
Erik’s expression warmed, amusement lighting in his eyes. “Then I shall do just that.” He said, signaling the waiter with a subtle nod. “But I should warn you, my dear. My taste rarely disappoints.”
“Sound a bit like a challenge there. Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She teased, leaning back just slightly, satisfied to let the evening unfold.
Erik and Rogue continued to chat throughout dinner, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. They reminisced about shared memories, traded stories from their day-to-day lives, and exchanged playful barbs that danced on the edge of flirtation. If anyone had seen them at that moment, they would’ve simply witnessed two people sharing laughter, warmth, and quiet understanding over a candlelit table. There was only good company, good wine, and a delicious meal.
Erik leaned back against the dark wooden chair as he silently studied her, his eyes drinking her in. She sat across from him in the golden warmth of the restaurant, the flickering candlelight painting soft glows along the edges of her hair, her cheekbones, her lips. Erik barely heard the subtle clatter of silverware or the soft murmur of other diners around them. His world had narrowed to her. The way she twirled her fork with an almost absent elegance, the small, satisfied smile that touched her lips with every bite, the quiet hum she gave when something delighted her.
She looked radiant. Not in the polished, deliberate way that some might chase attention, but something far rarer. She was real. And that, to Erik, was the most beautiful thing of all.
There was something about Rogue that disarmed him. She was contradiction embodied: strength wrapped in gentleness, guarded but generous, teasing yet sincere. He watched the way she moved, spoke, smiled, and somewhere deep in his chest, something stirred that he didn’t often let surface. She made a simple evening feel... fuller. She made him feel more alive.
Erik brought the glass to his lips and taking a few thoughtful sips, savoring the complexity of the wine. His gaze then dropped to his plate. Quietly, he stabbed a meatball and sliced it in half. Without a word or hesitation, he reached across and offered one half to her, balanced carefully on his fork before placing the protein on her plate.
Rogue was surprised by the simple gesture. It came out of nowhere, but it was not unwelcoming either. Something about it felt… sincere. Unspoken. A quiet offering from a man who rarely gave anything without reason.
Her eyes met his, searching for some trace of intention behind the act. But Erik gave nothing away. Just a clam and near unreadable expression, the kind that always made her feel like there was more happening beneath the surface. Still, she accepted it what he offered her and just smiled before taking a bite out of it.
Erik watched her take the bite and nodded briefly to himself, pleased that she was enjoying herself tonight. It was a small victory, unspoken but deeply felt.
With bellies full and hearts with content, dessert was brought out to indulge their sweet cravings, while Erik savored a glass of cognac, relishing its rich, dry-aged flavor complexity. Then, with a soft glance at his beautiful companion, he slid the glass across the table toward Rogue, offering her a taste of his after-dinner drink. Much like dinner, Erik had no issue of sharing what is his, especially when it came to her.
Rogue glanced at the amber-hued liquid, curious before gently taking the glass from his hand. As their fingers brushed, a faint electric spark passed between them. Not unusual. Neither flinched. There was no pull back nor a moment for Rogue to panic due to her absorption power. She was already used to Erik being immune to her...gift.
She brought the glass to her lips, letting the brandy roll across her tongue in a slow, exploratory sip. The rich oak and lingering notes of cinnamon and nutmeg hit her senses with unexpected depth. It was bold, complex, and just a little bit dangerous, like Erik. The thought slipped in unplanned, catching her off guard.
Erik silently watched her, a soft smile curving his lips. He looked at her as if she were a moment he wanted to memorize.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Erik asked, his expression soft and relaxed. Maybe it was the wine mellowing the edges of his thoughts. Or maybe it was Rogue, sitting across from him, her presence easing the restlessness he so often carried.
“Ah’m having a lovely time, Erik.” She replied with a warm and genuine smile. “Thank you for saying yes to this. It really means a lot to me that you’d...” She hesitated, her words catching a bit of nervousness in her voice. “W-well, it’s just Ah didn’t want to throw away the tickets after you paid so much for this at the time and Ah didn’t want to go alone. Remy... he didn’t want to come and Ah didn’t know anyone who would be interested except you.”
It wasn’t bitter. Just matter of fact. But the shadow in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.
Erik’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the stem of his glass. He didn’t speak, not immediately. He couldn’t. He simply watched her with that same unreadable gaze, one that held far more than he allowed himself to say.
“I understand. I am honored that you thought of me to accompany you tonight.” He said at last, softer than before.
Rogue looked at him, really looked, and some of the tension eased in her shoulders. “Ah’m glad Ah did.” She said honestly, her voice a little steadier now. “This is nice. It's... easy. Ah don’t get many nights that feel like this.”
He smirked faintly, swirling what was left of his cognac. “Then savor every moment, my dear. I can see it in your eyes just how alive you are tonight.”
And he meant it. But, selfishly, a part of him also wished he were the reason.
“Okay, now that’s just the drink talkin’.” Rogue giggled, brushing off the compliment with playful ease.
“Now why would you believe I jest?” Erik leaned forward, his eyes glinting with warmth, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “You know I am a man of my word. And when I speak, I speak the truth.”
She arched a brow, teasing. “Even when you’re full of fine cognac?”
“I don’t need alcohol for that, my dear.” He countered with a rich chuckle. “But I suppose it helps sharpens my honesty.”
Rogue laughed again, but there was a softer note to it now. A flicker of something gentler in her gaze. Almost as if she was beginning to feel the edges of something she hadn’t meant to step into.
Erik felt it too. The quiet shift between them. The weight of what neither of them dared name.
In their silence, soft hums of music drifted from across the room. Rogue’s gaze drifted to the dance floor. Her eyes settled on a couple slow dancing beneath the soft glow of hanging lights, moving together like they had all the time in the world. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Just for a second, she let herself imagine what it would be like to be in that moment to be held close, to feel safe, seen. Wanted.
And without meaning to, she wondered what it would feel like if it had been Erik reaching for her hand instead.
Apparently, the man might have secretly been a mind reader.
With his glass now empty and set aside, Erik stood from his seat, smoothing the front of his jacket. Then, without a word, he stepped toward her without rush. He extended a hand in her direction, palm up, his expression soft but sure. A quiet grin played at the corners of his mouth, warm and just a touch wistful.
“The night remains. Let us end it with a simple dance, my dear.” He said, his blue eyes holding tremendous tenderness towards her. “If you’ll accept an old man’s offer.”
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Her heart beat a little faster, unsure if this was the right moment, unsure what it might mean. But the way he looked at her with certainty, as if she'd never been too much, made something inside her settle.
With a simple grin, she placed her hand in his, fitting like a glove. “You know Ah can’t say no to a good dance. Especially when Ah know Ah have a dance partner who’s so good at it.”
Erik’s smile deepened and something in his chest gave a quiet life. Pride or, maybe, something far more fragile. His fingers closed gently around hers, warm and steady. He guided her onto the floor with quiet grace, the music washing over them as they found their rhythm. His hand settled at her waist, the other holding hers with a care that surprised her. No power plays. No theatrics. No agenda. Just presence. Just warmth.
Just Erik.
They moved together slowly, not speaking. The world around them faded until all Rogue could feel was the steady beat of his heart near hers, the surety of his steps, and the safety of being in his arms.
His arms. Rogue leaned into that warmth just a little. Into him. There was a strength in Erik’s arms. Not just the physical kind. It was the steadiness of him. The way he held her like she wasn’t fragile, but something more precious. Like he knew exactly how much she could carry and chose to carry some of it for her anyway.
Being in his arms felt as if everything else quieted. All the voices in her head, the tension in her shoulders, the constant fear of hurting or being hurt all went still. Erik didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. His presence wrapped around her like armor. Yet, it made her feel soft, human. Wanted.
His touch wasn’t hesitant, but it wasn’t demanding either. It was respectful. Erik was many things, but never a liar. Even more so when he told her she was always welcomed if she needed him. Whether it was something as simple as a hug or just to hold hands, Erik was always by her side when in need of support. And that meant something to her.
There was a warmth in his embrace she hadn’t expected. Not heat, but comfort. Safe. The way he held her made her feel like she wasn’t a danger, wasn’t a curse, but a woman. A woman he saw, and maybe even cared for. Deeply.
And yet, Rogue felt something stir within her. It made her begin to question her reality with Remy the more she analyzed her past and present with him. Rogue knew that Remy wasn’t perfect. Nobody was. And she did love him. She always has. He was her husband. Through the fights, the secrets, the long silences that came after betrayal or fear, they’d somehow always found their way back. He was reckless, frustrating, and impossible. But he was hers. He challenged her, teased her, chased her, and loved her in a way that felt impossible not to return.
Yet, she couldn’t break away from the nagging sensation in her chest that instead of being in her husband’s arms, she was being held in the arms of her former lover. And how was it possible that Erik made her feel seen, respected, in a way that Remy often couldn’t?
She swallowed, blinking slow, trying to chase away the thoughts that had slipped in too easily. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts she’d never dared entertain before. At least, not seriously. But now, in his arms, in the hush of dim lights and live music, something was unfolding.
Why does it feel more like home here than it had in months with Remy?
She didn’t want to be unfair. She loved Remy. His charm, his passion, that reckless glow in his eye that once made her feel like the world could tilt and she’d still be safe in the chaos of it. He was wild, untamed, a spark that had lit something in her when she’d needed it most. But after having been married for some time now, it seemed that spark was being tested. He was there, but not. Loving her, but from a distance. And somewhere along the way, Rogue had begun to feel more like a habit than a choice at this point.
But with Erik…
She lifted her eyes to him, drawn to the quiet certainty he wore like armor. He didn’t demand. He didn’t chase. He was steady, grounded, and present. And that, somehow, spoke louder than all of Remy’s fire ever had.
Erik wasn’t wildfire. He was the hearth. Oddly enough, he felt as the sort of place one would return to when the storm had passed.
His gaze met hers, calm and unreadable, but the hand at her waist shifted slightly, his thumb brushing against the silk of her gown. It was so subtle that it could have gone unnoticed. But she felt it. Felt him . Not just the contact, but the intention. The restraint. The quiet, unspoken weight of everything they’d never said.
It left Rogue only to wonder, with aching honesty, as to what might have happened if things had been just a little bit different. Where would their lives have led them now? Who would they be today? Would they have found peace in one another, maybe even married and building a quiet life with children to proudly call their own? What kind of home would they have made, what dreams would they have shared? And most of all, what sort of life might they have endured and cherished together?
Rogue could only grin, trying to hide away what she was thinking deeply to herself. Her eyes closed briefly to hold onto the music, the warmth, and the man in front of her. And then, boldly, she leaned in closer and rested her head on Erik’s shoulder while they danced.
Erik blinked, stunned by the softness and the trust of it. For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. He had imagined her close, imagined what it would feel like to hold her again that was not limited to just dreams or fantasies. And now, reality caught up to him and here she was.
He didn’t question it. He didn’t speak. Instead, Erik welcomed it. One arm gently adjusted around her as he drew her in as his hand splayed across the small of her back, protective and reverent. His breath hitched, unbidden, when the scent of her hair met him. It caught him off guard, hit him in the ribs with an ache so tender it almost hurt. He turned his head just slightly, burying his nose into her hair for the briefest moment.
He hadn’t meant to. He hadn't planned to. But it was instinct, that gentle lean. That unconscious longing to be near her, to let himself feel human again in the comfort of someone who made him forget the centuries of sorrow lining his bones.
And God, she smelled like memory and hope. A time when there was some peace in his life with her. When there was nothing but nature as witness to their passion and discovery in the Savage Land, when the outside world did not matter and they were both safe in their new comfort.
It nearly undid him. She felt too good in his arms.
Holding her in his arms only left to wonder what if he had not been so wounded, have not kept his walls up so high, would she have chosen him then? Would she have chosen the monster with a bleeding heart?
Had Erik been a healthier man in both mind and spirit, would she have let herself fall fully, without hesitation, into whatever they may have become?
That thought got stuck in his throat like a stone. He tightened his hold just barely, not to trap her, but to reassure himself she was truly there. That this wasn’t just a cruel trick of memory conjured by years of solitude and regret.
Rogue didn’t pull away.
She stayed, warm and quiet against him, her head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder as if she belonged there. The music was slow, lilting, and it gave them an excuse to keep swaying, though he doubted either of them was really listening anymore.
Had he met her at a better time, been a better man, would the past have unfolded differently? Would she have seen him as something more than the broken relic of a war that never truly ended?
Erik was only left with nothing but to wonder, haunted by the echoes of what might have been. His thoughts drifted endlessly into dreams, soft and cruel, painting of a life that never came to pass or ever will be. A life where it was only just them together in the here and now. Perhaps as husband and wife and maybe even blessed with a few children to proudly call their own and carry their legacy, to call them mother and father with joy in their voices.
Erik could only frown and blame himself at these thoughts. He allowed his heart to shatter as it had been many times, like a warrior that always rises but continues to bleed without falling. Instead, he only held her like a man clings to breath, desperate, reverent, and unwilling to let go. He held her the way a man loves a woman not just deeply, but completely. If only this embrace could make him rewrite the past and steal back a future that was never theirs to begin with.
Instead, he was holding a married woman, who loved another. Still chose another. And despite how many times Gambit had hurt her from his carelessness and distance, Rogue remained loyal to him. Fiercely so. Erik admired that about her, even as it quietly destroyed him.
Right now, as her hand curled lightly at his shoulder, her breath brushing against his neck, Erik allowed himself this small grace. This one moment. He let go of the questions. He let go of the pain. Instead, for the first time in years, he simply held her, as though he had nothing left to prove.
Because there was nothing for him to prove anymore.
Instead, he only he held her like a man who, for one fragile moment, dared to believe that dreams might still live in the hearts of the broken. That even shattered souls could find warmth again, if only briefly. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, and for a second the world seemed to stop. Her scent, it was just as he remembered.
Familiar. Real. Her.
So close, yet so far.
🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸
As courtesy, Erik once again offered to give her a ride back to the mansion. When Rogue asked him not to drive all the way up the driveway, he agreed without hesitation, understanding her unspoken wish to avoid any chaos or unwanted attention if anyone spotted them together on property.
The gate of the mansion came into view, its heavy iron bars closed. This was the boundary they couldn’t cross. It was here that they had to part ways. The gate itself marked a fragile line between what was and what might never be again.
Exiting the vehicle, Erik buttoned his coat with practiced ease. True to form, ever the gentleman, he walked around the car and opened the door for Rogue. He extended his hand out, offering steady support as she prepared to step out. Rogue met his gesture with a soft smile, accepting his kindness without hesitation.
“Again, Ah really enjoyed what we shared tonight.” She said, her smile never wavering as she straightened her dress, her hand still held in Erik’s yet never pulled away. “It really means a whole lot what you’ve done for me.”
Erik, nearly grinning like a fool, gazed at her with such tenderness that would have frightened anyone but her. “You know I could never reject such a request from you, my dear. Denying you would be...beneath me.”
Why did his words, his voice make her heart nearly flutter like this?
“Well... Ah still wanna thank ya for this. Especially for the dinner.” Her smile turned sheepish as a faint blush colored her cheeks. “And the dance. You haven’t lost your touch one bit.”
Erik let out a low, amused chuckled as he walked beside her toward the gate, his arm still offered in a gentleman’s escort. “I am flattered you think I’ve managed to retain a shred of of talent.”
“Oh, but you have!” She insisted with a grin until she paused when her tone turned into teasing. “But Ah’m afraid Ah’ll have to blame ya for one thing.”
Erik raised a brow, both slightly confused and curious. “And what offense have I committed now?”
Rogue then leaned in just a bit, mischief in her voice. “You made my feet sore.”
Then, Erik’s laughter came freely, rich and unexpected. “Then I suppose I’ll consider that a small price for a perfect evening together. In return, I should be thanking you.”
“Oh?” Now it was her turn to be piqued with curiosity. “And what did Ah do to be earning your gratitude?”
Erik smiled and with small, elegant gesture, he waved his hand by unlatching the iron gate with effortless grace. It creaked slightly as he effortlessly pushed it open with his power, just enough for her to enter. He paused before answering, his expression softening. “The mere fact you thought of me... and chose me to spend the evening by your side. That alone is more generous than you know.”
Rogue stepped through the gate slowly, her heart skipping at his words. She turned to face him, staring into his blue eyes. What was often so cold and distant had melted into something genuine and warm. Instead, she only smiled. “You’re being sweet. But Ah’m also glad you enjoyed yourself as much as Ah did.”
Erik’s lips curved in the faintest smile, one that never quite reached the corners but carried weight all the same. “More than you know.”
There was something in the way he said it that was quiet and reverent, like a man trying not to say too much.
She lingered in the open gate, the soft breeze tugging lightly at her hair. Part of her told her to return to the mansion, to end the night right here. But another part of her, the foolish and tender part, wanted to hold the silence a little longer.
“You know what’s so funny?” She momentarily paused, carefully trying to pick the right words for this. Yet, it made her smile just a bit as she gazed up at the older man. “Despite our differences, despite following two different paths, and having gone our separate ways, Ah feel as if what we once had never truly left.”
Erik’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment. He tilted his head slightly, not with surprise, but with the quiet reverence of a man who’d suspect as much and was grateful to heat it said aloud.
“We have a kinship.” He said at last, the words simple but full of weight. His grin was subtle but deeply sincere, touched with the kind of affection that doesn’t need grand gestures. His voice dropped just a note, intimae in the silence between them. “One forged through fire, tempered by time. Something...enduring.”
Rogue’s smile softened, her eyes glossing faintly with unspoken emotion. “Ah think part of me always knew that. Even when we were standin’ on opposite sides of the line... you were never all that far away.”
He nodded, as if that truth had lived in him too, unvoiced until now. “You always saw me beneath the armor, the ideology, the cause. You saw the man while the world only sees a monster. And I saw you, even when the world only seemed to fear what you could do.”
She exhaled, slow and steady, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Guess that’s the real funny part. We saw each other when no one else did.”
They both chuckled, humoring one another until silence fell between them, only the sound of the night wind howling. Erik and Rogue stared at one another, divided by the iron bars of the mansion’s gate between them. If only they knew what it symbolized in that present moment: a boundary neither can cross.
Erik’s eyes lingered on the young woman before him, drinking in every detail as though trying to memorize her very essence. Her beauty, her charm, her nature. Her soul ... How it pained his fragmented heart. She was light and he was nothing but held only by darkness. If only Rogue could truly understand how painful it is for him to be standing this close to someone so whole as her when he knew in the end, he can never have it.
“Rogue, if you ever feel what you had with him fades... if the ache of being unseen becomes too much... know that you will never be invisible to me.” He said with the upmost sincerity, his voice low and steady as he stared deeply into her green eyes.
His words caught her right in the middle of her chest. It left her nearly speechless. She looked at him with her eyes widened and her throat growing tight. “Erik...”
Without hesitation, he reached through the cold iron bars, taking her hands and brought them gently but firmly to his chest. “I know he is your husband, Rogue, and as his wife I know you wouldn't allow anyone dare speak ill of him. Not even from me.”
He then paused, eyes locked on hers, searching for something. Anything. “But what I say now is not out of bitterness, but the truth. Even if you dislike it, you can never claim I lied to you.”
“And what is it that ya have to say?” She asked, her green eyes nearly widened in seeing this gesture coming from Erik.
“That your husband was a fool for not joining you tonight.” Right from the start, Erik was unflinchingly honest, his voice low but resolute. Everything he had held back until now was released.
“Above all, he disrespected your interest of coming to the opera. He disrespected what mattered to you. He dismissed your longing for something different. You, who give so much to everyone, deserved one night to feel special. And he couldn’t be bothered to do that. He could have seen the way you glowed when the curtain rose. The way your eyes sparkled at every note, the way you let your heart feel, how you wept for those tragic lovers on stage. Gambit could have watched you be swept away, caught in something grand and aching and beautiful.” He took a deep breath, not breaking eye contact from her. “What I saw from you tonight, Rogue...would have undone a man.”
The silence that followed was thick and trembling. Rogue stared at him, stunned, her breath caught. His words landed like thunder in her chest.
Erik’s eyes widened in near horror, afraid he might have struck a nerve or have gone a little too far. His hands loosened around hers slightly, though he didn’t let go. He was giving her the chance to pull away. To leave. To choose.
Rogue didn’t pull her hands away.
“Yet, you still came.” She said quietly, her tone nearly hushed.
Erik nodded, the weight in his chest currently unbearable. “Without hesitation.”
It shouldn’t have sounded that way. So... yearnful. Almost like a vow.
Yet it did, and instantly it made Rogue suddenly questioned her life, her choice, her heart. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more, Erik’s words or the part of her that wasn’t ready to turn away from them.
“I shall not keep away any longer now.” Erik said at last, breaking the silence after noticing the small tension in the air. Perhaps he had said too much in that moment. Whatever comes forward after tonight will be written and they will move on as they had in the past.
His gaze lingered on her momentarily longer before he stood up straight. “It’s best if we part ways tonight.”
“Yes...” She said, blinking as if waking from a dream. She composed herself and then offered the older man a friendly grin. “Ah think we should.”
It was, at least, the right thing to do. Yet, neither one of them moved right away. Their hands remained locked, as if a warm force kept them like this.
“Until we meet again, my dear.” Erik offered her a soft, sincere grin, one that masked more than what was revealed. The truth of what lingered in his eyes remained hidden behind the practiced calm of a man who had long learned to guard his heart.
Gently. He lifted her hands from where they rested against his chest and brought them to his lips. He closed his eyes as he pressed a warm, tender kiss to her knuckles. It was a quiet gesture meant to hold more than words ever could describe. A moment he wished to savor, however fleeting it may be.
Rogue felt the warmth of his lips against her skin like a gentle flame, too impossible to ignore. Her breath caught and, in an instance, the world narrowed to just the feel of his hands, the reverence in his touch, the way he held her as if she were something sacred.
Until that warmth slipped away when they pulled apart.
“Good night, Erik.” Rogue grinned, warm and friendly. But her lovely green eyes kept something emotionally hidden and one that should be kept out of reach.
With one last grin, one last look, Rogue turned on her heels and walked the path back toward the mansion. The more she kept walking, the more the sight of Erik’s figure shrank behind her until he was nothing but a shadow blurred by the night fog.
Erik stood there in silence, one hand tightening around the cold iron bars of the gate. He didn’t call out nor moved. Instead, he simply watched her disappear into the night and held onto the ache she left behind.
The older man did not start the car right away. He sat still, hands resting on the wheel but did not move. His mind was racing, but it was his heart that swallowed him whole. He thought back to every glance, every word, every smile, and every fragile pause between them. He had accompanied her, dined with her, danced with her, held her in his arms, touched her hands, kissed it.
They will all but be memories expected to replay like echoes in an empty hall. Memories of what was . Of what almost was. Of her.
And then came the thought of him.
Gambit.
Erik’s jaw tightened and his fingers tightened harshly around the steering wheel until the leather creaked beneath his grip. His blood boiled hot in skin and he let out a growl.
Not for the first time, Erik found himself enraged on her behalf. Enraged at the blindness, the selfishness, the waste of a man who couldn’t see what he had right in front of him. What a stupid, stupid, wretched fool. A woman who still lit up like a star when moved by music, by story, by beauty. A woman who had gone alone without her husband when she should have been cherished.
And for the briefest moment, Erik allowed himself the thought: If she had been mine…
The thought of it, the sheer realization of it alone, cut right through his aching heart like a blade. Maybe, for once, he should be selfish. Maybe he should laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. That he, not Gambit, had witnessed Rogue tonight in all her radiance. That he had seen the way she lit up beneath the glow of the stage, the way her soul responded to the art, to the tragedy, to the beauty. That he had watched her feel, that he dined and held her in his arms as they danced.
Maybe, just maybe, Erik should have laughed in that swamp rat’s face for missing it all. For not knowing what he had tonight.
But couldn’t. Because in the end, it was Gambit who was getting the last laugh. She had still walked away from Erik. She was still his wife. And Erik was once again left with nothing but memory, ache, and silence.
What could have been will never come to pass. No quiet discussions in the dead of night. No shared decisions, no building a life hand in hand. No waking up beside her in the softness of morning light. No tender affections. No more stolen glances or smiles. No intimacy born of trust, no dreams spoken into the silence of night. No more of being seen, not just as powerful, but as worthy. As wanted. As his. The man behind the monster.
All of it gone and never to be.
And though he'd long believed himself past the point of tears, it seems that he still had some tears to shed.