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It was midnight when the knock came.
Remy LeBeau was half asleep on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other dangling uselessly toward the floor. The television was still on, some late-night movie flickering silently because he’d turned the volume down hours ago, telling himself he was just resting his eyes. He wore no shirt, the Louisiana heat still clinging to him even at night, and a pair of worn sweatpants slung low on his hips.
The knock came again.
Remy groaned softly, blinking awake. His first thought was irritation. Someone better be bleedin’ and dyin’ if they was knockin’ on his door at this hour. His second thought, sharp and sudden, was hope, and that thought made his chest ache in a way he was painfully familiar with.
He pushed himself up, rubbing a hand over his face, messy auburn hair falling into his eyes. He shuffled toward the door, bare feet silent against the floor.
“Yeah, yeah, j’arrive,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. “Hold ya horses.”
He opened the door.
Rogue stood there.
She wore an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed her frame, the sleeves pulled down over her hands like she was trying to disappear into it. Loose sweats hung low on her hips, soft and worn. Her hair was a wild halo of frizzy curls, like she’d tried to tame it and failed, and her makeup, what little she usually wore, was almost entirely gone. No bold eyeliner.
Just Rogue.
Just Anna Marie, looking tired and vulnerable and painfully real.
For a split second, Remy forgot how to breathe.
Mon dieu.
He had seen her in battle, fierce and glowing with borrowed power. He had seen her dressed to kill, curves wrapped in colored latex and confidence. He had seen her angry, sarcastic, heartbroken, stubborn as hell.
He had never, never, seen anything more stunning than this.
“Remy?” she said softly, her Southern drawl gentler than usual as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Ah’m sorry t’ wake ya.”
His brain short-circuited.
“Ah-” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to blink, to move, to remember how doors worked. “Cher, it’s okay. It’s okay. Come on in.”
She hesitated, just for a moment, eyes flicking past him like she was making sure this was really allowed. Then she stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind her, and suddenly the room felt smaller. Warmer. Charged with something that made Remy painfully aware of the bare skin of his chest, of the way her eyes flicked there before darting away.
She tucked her hands deeper into her sleeves, shoulders hunched.
“Ah..Ah didn’t wanna be alone tonight,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s… if that’s okay.”
Remy’s heart clenched so hard it almost hurt.
“Marie,” he said gently. “You don’ gotta explain nothin’. You’re always welcome here. Always.”
Her shoulders loosened just a little at that.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He gestured toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll..uh-” He glanced down at himself, suddenly hyper-aware of the lack of shirt. “Ah can put somethin’ on if-”
“No,” she said quickly, then flushed. “Ah mean..no, it’s fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
That did absolutely nothing to calm him.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, the television still casting a soft blue glow over the room. Neither of them really watched it. Silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy.
Rogue picked at the cuff of her sleeve.
“Ah had a bad dream,” she admitted after a while. “From when I was younger...”
Remy swallowed.
He turned his body toward her fully, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. “You wanna talk ‘bout it, chère?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Ah just.. Ah just didn’t wanna be by mahself.”
“Then you’re exactly where you should be,” he said softly.
She glanced at him, and for a moment their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them, something fragile and dangerous and familiar.
Remy had wanted her for so long it felt like a part of him. Wanted her in the quiet moments, in the spaces between missions, late nights, hard ones like this one. Wanted her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she said his name like it meant something..
He wanted her badly.
After a few minutes, Rogue shifted closer, just a few inches. Not touching. Never touching.
Remy felt it anyway.
“You cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
He hesitated. His heart pounded. “Ah..ah got a blanket.”
She smiled faintly. “That’d be nice.”
He grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and carefully draped it over both of them, making sure there was fabric between every inch of skin. Their shoulders brushed through layers of cloth, and the contact was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
She leaned into him slowly, like she was testing whether he’d pull away.
He didn’t.
Instead, he adjusted, arm coming up around her shoulders, careful..so careful, to keep his bare skin from hers. The blanket and her hoodie formed a barrier.
Rogue sighed, a soft sound of relief, and rested her head against his chest.
Remy froze.
Then, gently, he rested his chin on the top of her head.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Her breathing evened out, slow and steady. Remy listened to it like it was the most important sound in the world.
“Remy?” she murmured.
“Oui, chère?”
“Do ya ever get tired… of wantin’ things ya can’t have?”
His chest tightened.
“Never,” he whispered quietly.
She was silent for a moment. Then, “Ah’m glad it’s you tonight.”
He closed his eyes, fighting the ache in his chest.
“Me too,” he whispered.
The night settled.
Remy stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement might break whatever fragile permission she’d given herself by leaning into him. Her weight against his chest was light, tentative, but it felt monumental..like the axis of the world had tilted just enough to let him touch something sacred without shattering it.
He stared at the dark television screen, reflections of blue and shadow sliding over the room, but he didn’t really see any of it. All he could feel was Rogue’s hair against his collarbone through layers of cotton and fleece, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the way her body had gone slack with exhaustion now that she wasn’t alone.
Mon dieu, he loved her.
Not the sharp, aching want he’d tried to drown in bravado and flirting over the years..not just the hunger that lived in his hands whenever he thought too long about what it would be like to touch her without gloves, without fear.
This was worse.
This was quieter. Deeper. The kind of love that lodged itself in his bones and refused to leave.
He swallowed, careful not to shift his chest beneath her head. His arm around her shoulders was tense with restraint, muscles aching from the effort of keeping distance where every instinct screamed to pull her closer.
She stirred slightly, a soft sound in her throat, and his heart leapt like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Sorry,” he murmured instinctively, even though he hadn’t moved.
She didn’t pull away. If anything, she tucked herself closer by a fraction of an inch.
“Didn’t mean t’ fall half asleep on ya,” she mumbled, voice thick with fatigue.
“Don’ apologize,” he said softly. “Ah don’ mind.”
That was the understatement of the century.
They sat like that for a while longer, the clock on the wall ticking away the seconds. Somewhere outside, a car passed, tires hissing on pavement. The city breathed around them.
Remy finally dared to look down at her.
Her face was turned toward his chest, eyes closed now, lashes dark against her cheeks. Without makeup, without armor, she looked younger somehow. Softer. Like the girl she’d been before powers and pain and the weight of the world had carved lines into her confidence.
His chest tightened so hard he thought it might give him away.
“Rogue,” he said quietly.
She hummed in response, not fully awake.
He hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at him since the moment she’d stood in his doorway.
“Did you… fly here?”
Her eyes opened slowly. She tipped her head back just enough to look up at him, careful not to brush skin.
“Yeah,” she said, almost sheepish. “Ah did.”
From New York.
To Louisiana.
His breath caught.
“Chère,” he whispered before he could stop himself. “That’s-” He shook his head, a helpless, disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s a long way t’ come jus’ ‘cause you didn’ wanna be alone.”
She shrugged one shoulder beneath the blanket. “Ah know. Ah tried t’ talk mahself outta it. Told mahself Ah was bein’ stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” he said immediately, voice fierce despite his attempt to keep it gentle.
Her gaze searched his face, like she was looking for doubt. For regret.
She didn’t find any.
“I didn’t even pack nothin’,” she continued quietly. “Just… put on the hoodie, flew till Ah couldn’t think anymore, an’ then Ah was standin’ outside your door.”
The image hit him like a punch to the gut..Rogue alone in the night sky, wind tearing at her clothes, heart dragging her across state lines because she trusted him not to turn her away.
Remy closed his eyes briefly.
“Mon cœur,” he said, so softly it barely carried. “You coulda gone anywhere.”
She swallowed. “Ah know.”
“And you chose here,” he said.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Simple. Honest. Devastating.
He let out a slow breath, forehead dipping to rest lightly against the top of her head through the barrier of the hoodie. He didn’t care that it probably looked ridiculous, hovering instead of touching. He just needed to be closer in some way that wouldn’t hurt her.
“Ah’m glad you came,” he said. “More than Ah can say.”
Her fingers twitched inside her sleeves, brushing the blanket near his ribs. Not skin. Never skin. But close enough that every nerve ending in his body went electric.
She hesitated. “You sure it’s okay? Me jus’ showin’ up like that?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Chère, Ah been hopin’ you’d show up like that ta see me for years.”
Her breath stuttered.
She pulled back just enough to look at him fully now, curls falling around her face. “Remy…”
He stopped smiling. He always did when she said his name like that..careful, like it was something that might break if handled wrong.
“I mean it,” he said quietly. “Ah don’ care if it’s midnight, or dawn, or the end of the world. You knock on mah door, Ah’m answerin’. Every time.”
Something shone in her eyes. She blinked hard.
“Ah don’t know what Ah’d do without ya,” she admitted, voice barely steady.
He wanted to tell her.
God, he wanted to tell her everything. How every mission felt wrong if she wasn’t there. How he still caught himself turning to make some dumb comment just to see her smile. How every woman he’d ever touched had been a distraction from the one person he couldn’t.
Instead, he said, “You ain’t gotta do nothin’ without me. Not tonight.”
She nodded, like that was enough. Maybe it was.
They shifted again, settling more comfortably. Rogue adjusted the blanket, making sure it still covered both of them completely. Remy let his arm relax a fraction more around her shoulders, still careful, still aching.
Her head found a new resting place against his chest, just over his heart.
He wondered if she could hear how fast it was beating.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt strange, stretched thin.
“Remy?” she murmured again.
“Oui?”
“Can Ah ask ya somethin’ kinda… selfish?”
He smiled faintly. “You can ask me anythin’.”
“Will ya stay awake?” she asked. “Jus’ for a little while. Till Ah’m really asleep.”
His chest tightened, equal parts tenderness and pain.
“Ah’ll stay awake all night if you want,” he said without hesitation.
She relaxed at that, body going heavy with trust. Her breathing slowed again, deeper this time.
Remy stared into the dim room, letting the weight of her settle into him.
She shifted in her sleep, brow furrowing slightly.
He lifted his free hand, hesitated, then gently rested it on her upper arm (still separated by layers of fabric). He rubbed a small, careful circle with his thumb.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, even though she hadn’t said anything. “Ah got you.”
Her expression smoothed. She exhaled softly, like she’d been holding her breath even in dreams.
And just like that, something in him broke open.
Not in a loud way. Not dramatic.
Just a quiet surrender.
He accepted it then, fully and without illusion: he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her. Not the idea of her. Not the fantasy of what they could never do.
Her.
The woman sleeping against his heart after flying down the coast of America because she trusted him to keep her safe from her own nightmares.
He didn’t need more than this. Didn’t need skin or stolen kisses or promises she couldn’t keep.
If this was all he ever got, being the place she landed when the world got too heavy..he’d take it. Gladly. Forever.
Outside, the night crept toward morning.
Remy stayed awake, just like he promised, holding Rogue while the world turned quietly on, his heart doing everything but rest.
Morning crept in slowly.
Remy noticed it first in the way the light changed, how the dark blue of the room softened into gray, then pale gold. The city outside his window began to stir, distant traffic humming low and steady, like the world clearing its throat before speaking.
He hadn’t slept.
Not really.
He’d drifted once or twice, that strange half-state where thoughts blur and time stretches thin, but every time Rogue shifted or sighed or breathed a little deeper, he snapped right back to awareness. Wide awake. Anchored.
And she was still there.
Curled against him beneath the blanket, hoodie bunched up around her shoulders, curls a tangled mess against his chest. One knee was drawn up, pressing lightly into his thigh through layers of fabric. Her face was relaxed in sleep, mouth parted just a little, lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks.
Remy felt like he was witnessing something holy.
Mon dieu… she stayed.
The realization hit him again, fresh and dizzying. She hadn’t slipped away at dawn. Hadn’t panicked in the early hours and flown back north before he “woke up”..
She was still here. With him.
His heart ached so fiercely it almost scared him.
He shifted just enough to ease the stiffness in his neck, careful not to disturb her. His arm was still around her shoulders, numb but steadfast, like it had been carved there. He didn’t mind the pins and needles. He’d lose the arm before he moved her.
He watched her breathe.
Every exhale felt like permission.
Sunlight brushed her curls, turning the white streak at her temple almost silver. He swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by the tenderness of it all, the quiet domesticity of waking up like this, the way her head fit so naturally against him like it had always belonged there.
If he let himself imagine this happening every morning, he might not survive the thought.
As if sensing his gaze, Rogue stirred.
Not fully awake at first, just a small shift, a soft sound in her throat. Her fingers flexed inside the sleeves of her hoodie, brushing the blanket again.
Remy froze.
Her brow furrowed faintly, then smoothed. She inhaled, deep and slow.
And then her eyes opened.
For half a second, confusion flickered across her face.
Then she registered where she was.
Who she was with.
Her eyes widened just a touch. She didn’t pull away.
“Hey,” Remy said quietly, voice warm and a little rough. “Mornin’, chère.”
Her lips parted. “Mornin’,” she murmured, voice sleep-soft and low.
God help him.
She blinked a few times, gaze drifting over his face, lingering there like she was taking inventory. He was suddenly acutely aware of everything, his unshaven jaw, the sleep-creased couch, the fact that he was still shirtless and very much holding her.
Color bloomed faintly in her cheeks.
“Ah, uh…” She cleared her throat, then glanced down, clearly realizing just how close they were. “Ah guess Ah didn’t roll off an’ leave after all.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Non,” he said gently. “You stayed.”
She studied him again, something unreadable in her expression. “You stayed awake?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Oui. Told you Ah would.”
Her eyes softened. “You didn’t hafta do that.”
“I wanted to.”
The words came out before he could temper them.
Rogue shifted, carefully, easing herself more upright but still beneath the blanket, still very much within his space. She hugged her knees loosely, turning to face him fully now.
“Well,” she said, trying for casual and not quite getting there, “guess Ah owe ya breakfast or somethin’.”
He chuckled softly. “You flew all the way from New York an’ you think you owe me?”
She smiled at that, small but genuine. “Ah mean… it’s the least Ah can do…I showed up at 1 am requestin attention.”
He tilted his head, eyes dancing despite the ache beneath it. “You always tryin’ t’ pay your debts, chère?”
She snorted quietly. “Only when Ah’m stayin’ on a handsome Cajun’s couch overnight.”
His heart stumbled.
“Handsome, huh?” he drawled, unable to help himself.
She rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. “Don’t let it go t’ your head.”
“Too late,” he said lightly. “Already there.”
She laughed then, a soft, sleepy sound that went straight through him. Remy felt it settle in his chest like warmth after a long cold.
They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other, the weight of the night still wrapped around them. It wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… natural. Dangerous in how easy it felt.
Rogue glanced around the apartment. “Sorry ‘bout takin’ over your couch.”
He followed her gaze, then looked back at her. “Anytime you want it, it’s yours.”
Her eyes flicked back to him, searching again. “You really mean that, don’t ya?”
“With everythin’ Ah got,” he said quietly.
She swallowed, then looked down at her hands, twisting the fabric of her sleeves. “Ah don’t know what Ah’d do if you weren’t… you know. You.”
He leaned a little closer, not touching, but near enough that she could feel him. “You don’ ever hafta figure that out alone.”
She looked up at him then, vulnerability laid bare. “You make it awful hard not t’ depend on ya.”
His smile softened, losing its usual teasing edge. “Chère… depend on me. Please.”
The air between them went very still.
For a heartbeat, he thought she might pull away. Retreat behind jokes and distance and all the careful rules they lived by.
Instead, she smiled..slow, warm, just a little shy.
“You always say the right thing,” she said.
He laughed under his breath. “That might be the first time anyone’s ever accused me of that.”
She bumped her knee lightly against his thigh through the blanket. “Guess Ah bring out the best in ya.”
“You bring out everythin’ in me,” he replied without thinking.
Silence.
Her breath caught, just slightly.
Remy’s heart pounded. He forced himself not to reach for her, not to cross the line he’d been guarding all night.
If she moved closer, though…
Rogue shifted, angling toward him again, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm through fabric.
“Well,” she said softly, eyes glinting with something playful now, “since you stayed awake all night keepin’ watch over me… reckon Ah should make sure you get some coffee at least.”
He smiled, slow and fond and utterly undone. “Now that, chère, is true love.”
She laughed again, leaning into him just a little more.
And Remy thought, with a quiet certainty that terrified and thrilled him in equal measure:
If this was what mornings with her felt like, sleepy smiles, soft laughter, the promise of warmth instead of loneliness..then he was already lost.
And he had never been happier to be.