Chapter Text
It was a dream. Without a doubt, he had to be dreaming.
Remy began to wake up slowly, emerging from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep. The first thing his drowsy mind registered was the texture of the clothes he was wearing. A lightweight, long-sleeved T-shirt made of soft cotton that had begun to feel worn from use; loose sweatpants, socks on his feet and, of course, the thin fabric gloves covering his hands. They were his nighttime armor. They weren't an armor for defense, but a reassurance, a quiet promise to soothe the heavy anxiety that always kept her awake. Protection meant to quiet her overthinking mind and let her rest. Little by little, he remembered where he was. The mattress felt the same as the one in his own room, but the sheets were softer and, above all, warmer. In front of him was a barrier of pillows, and behind them was her.
He stretched with feline movements. Then he let his eyes adjust to the morning light. Sunlight filtered timidly through the heavy lace curtains, drawing geometric lines across the bed and the carpet. He could also see how the light enveloped her in an ethereal aura.
He had been living at the X-Men's mansion for a little over a year, but for Remy LeBeau, time continued to be measured on a completely different scale. Fourteen months had been enough to go from being the «new guy» to becoming a valuable member of the X-Men. The Cajun with a troubled past, the reformed thief under the strict, watchful eye of Charles Xavier and his people. However, in that particular room, time was not measured in months, but in centimeters of distance.
The ridge of pillows divided the double bed like an impassable border. Several pillows lay between them. They had exactly the right volume, the precise thickness necessary to fulfill the first rule of the safety protocol: maintaining a physical barrier that would prevent an involuntary turn in the middle of the night from ending in tragedy.
On the other side of the feather-filled trench, Rogue slept with her back to him. Her silhouette was wrapped in an outfit identical in purpose: socks on her feet, sweatpants covering her legs, long sleeves ending in silk gloves, and a turtleneck protecting her neck. Not a single millimeter of skin was exposed to the air, except for her face.
Remy blinked to clear the heaviness from his reddish eyes. The thief's instincts, usually alert to every sound in the mansion, were overcome by a much more human and primal impulse. With a deliberately slow movement, he stretched one arm over the dividing pillows and gently rested his forearm against Rogue's side, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
A few minutes later, still dazed by the remnants of sleep, Remy decided to take a chance. With surgical delicacy, he slid the first pillow off the bed. Rogue did not wake up. So he did the same with the rest. With a quick movement, he tossed them off the mattress. He heard the muffled thud of the pillows hitting the carpet and immediately closed the distance between them. He slid his body forward until his chest was pressed firmly against Rogue's back and, with one arm, tenderly wrapped it around her waist.
The effect was instantaneous. Rogue gave a violent start, a stifled jump that tensed every muscle in her body so rigidly that she seemed to turn to stone. Her eyes flew wide open with the blind panic of someone waking up convinced that her worst nightmare had come true. The nightmare of touching someone by accident. Of stealing their life.
"Hey, chère" Remy whispered in a hoarse voice, thick with sleep, drawing out his words with that New Orleans accent she knew so well. He moved a little closer, keeping his voice low, almost inaudible. "It's me, Remy. It's okay."
Feeling Remy's chest vibrate against her back, Rogue released a breath she had been holding, a trembling exhalation that made her shoulders drop a couple of millimeters. Remy, sensing a crack in her defensive armor, let out a soft little laugh that vibrated against the young woman's back. That arrangement, beautiful as it was in theory, was still a minefield. She had never slept with anyone in her entire life. Isolation was not merely a safety measure for Rogue; it was her natural state, her forced comfort zone.
It had taken months of endless patience, half-lit conversations, and absolute promises for her to barely agree to let him spend the night in the same bed. And even then, the concession came with a strict contract of unchangeable clauses: protective clothing, dividing pillows, and minimal contact during the night.
Remy understood her fear. He could read it in the way she held her breath whenever he crossed one of the invisible boundaries she had established to keep everyone at a distance. Throughout her life, ever since her mutant powers had manifested, the world's natural reaction to her had been physical rejection. People moved aside in the hallways, avoided her hands, and stayed as far away as possible to protect their own essence. Having someone actively seek to close that distance, someone who willingly threw himself into her personal space, was an anomaly her brain still processed with suspicion and terror.
She did not even bother to ask what had happened to the barrier of pillows; she knew the answer perfectly well. Remy was simply reckless.
"Be careful," she warned him.
"Everything's fine, I swear. In fact, I haven't slept this well in a long time. I'm ready to move into your room," he joked, tightening his arm around her waist.
The joke worked. He felt Rogue's chest vibrate with a short giggle and, finally, noticed her body losing all its rigidity. She let her head fall backward and rested it lightly against his chest. Remy took advantage of the moment to place a soft, lingering kiss on the fabric covering her shoulder. Then he moved his hand to the top of her arm and slowly ran it along its entire length, caressing the smooth cotton until he reached her gloved hand. He slid his fingers between hers, intertwining them firmly, palm against the back of her hand, fabric against fabric. A perfect union within the permitted limits.
"Good morning, by the way," she said.
With a lazy movement, Rogue guided their intertwined hands toward her own chest, right above where her heart beat, and pressed his hand there as if she wanted to make sure he was real, that the warmth she felt against her back was not a trick of her imagination.
They remained like that, suspended in a moment stolen from the world, enjoying the silence of a school that had not yet fully awakened. Remy breathed in the scent of her hair, a mixture of vanilla and magnolias, while convincing himself that every restriction, every layer of clothing, and every strict rule was worth it if the end result was this moment of shared peace.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sharp, energetic sound of knuckles striking the wooden door shattered the enchantment as if someone had thrown a stone through a window.
"Rogue? Are you awake?" Storm's voice on the other side of the door was firm, calm, but commanding.
Panic seized the young woman like an electric shock. Her eyes flew wide open as she glanced at the bedside clock. She had completely forgotten to set the alarm. The tactical flight session in the Danger Room was scheduled for first thing in the morning, and Ororo never tolerated lateness when it came to team training.
In a reflexive movement born of sheer desperation, Rogue sprang up, dragging the sheets with her and, thanks to her superhuman strength, dragging Remy along with them. He was caught completely off guard. Within two seconds, he hit the floor with a dull thud and a muffled groan that echoed throughout the room.
"Rogue? Is something wrong in there?" Storm asked from the hallway.
"N-no, no! Everything's fine, Ororo!" Rogue shouted, running her hands through her messy hair and trying to force her voice to sound normal and awake. "I just fell out of bed while trying to check the time! Sorry, I didn't hear my alarm, but I'll be in the Danger Room in less than ten minutes."
"All right. Don't be late. The Professor is already waiting for us in the control room. Roberto hasn't arrived either, so I'll go to his room to see what happened to him. Don't take too long, Rogue," Ororo replied, and her footsteps began to fade down the corridor.
Rogue let out a long sigh of relief. Without wasting any time, she ran to her closet, grabbed her uniform, and began taking off her pajamas so she could get dressed in a hurry, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through her. She glanced at the floor, where Remy was rubbing his back with a grimace of pain, but with amusement sparkling in his eyes. When their gazes met and Remy saw her in her underwear, his amused expression transformed into one of surprise and, of course, desire.
She glared at him while making frantic, desperate gestures with her hand, pointing directly toward the bedroom balcony.
Remy bit his lower lip, holding back a full-bodied laugh that threatened to escape his throat. He got up from the floor with the agility of an acrobat. He was wearing only his socks, but he did not stop to look for his shoes. He knew they were running out of time, and Rogue's expression promised terrible consequences if he were caught in her room. He walked lightly toward the balcony's glass doors, opening them silently to let in the cool morning breeze.
He stepped onto the small balcony and, before climbing down the wall, stopped and looked back. Rogue was almost dressed. She hurried toward him, tenderness and urgency written all over her face. She brought her gloved thumb to her lips, placed a kiss on it, and then used it to caress the Cajun's cheek. Afterward, she gave him an unmistakable signal that he had to leave immediately.
But Remy LeBeau was not a man who would settle for a kiss on the cheek.
With a quick movement of his hand, he caught Rogue's wrist and drew her toward him with a gentle but firm tug, reducing the space between their faces to just a few centimeters.
"Remy, stop it!" she whispered, her cheeks burning as she glanced toward the bedroom door. "Quit fooling around. They're going to catch us, and I don't want to have to explain anything to Scott or the Professor. Go!"
"Wait, wait, wait..." he said, wearing a sly smile, his eyes shining with an intensity that made her falter. "Before I go... I just want to tell you something. Last night was... I mean, what happened between us was... was..."
Remy stopped. For once in his life, the eloquent and charismatic thief had been left speechless. The emotion in his chest, the sheer gratitude, and the significance of the progress they had made by sharing that bed were so overwhelming that his usual vocabulary felt flat and inadequate. Searching for a way to express himself, he took Rogue's gloved hand and pressed it firmly against his own chest, right over the rapid beat of his heart.
Rogue looked into his eyes, and the urgency on her face softened, transformed by a sweet, understanding smile that illuminated her features.
"Yes, Remy. It was. Now move on and get out of here," she told him in an amused whisper, although she did not remove her hand from his chest.
Remy smiled, pleased with her reaction. He gently took her other hand and brought them both to his lips, placing a slow, deep kiss on her gloves without taking his eyes off her beautiful green eyes.
"What happened last night, chère, is how I want our relationship to be from now on," he told her, adopting a tone of absolute seriousness and sincerity.
"I want us to get closer and closer. I know it's difficult for you. I know you're afraid, and that's why I want to thank you. Thank you for trusting me. We're going to find other ways to be together, I promise. Ways that don't require us to touch each other's skin to feel close. We'll find interesting, fun, even... deep ways to do it."
Rogue rolled her eyes, letting out a little giggle at Remy's audacity and dramatic intensity. The suggestive tone of his final words had not escaped her notice.
"Why are you so obsessed with me, LeBeau?" she asked jokingly, arching an eyebrow with feigned arrogance.
"Maybe it's the thrill of danger, petite," he replied with a wink.
Knock. Knock.
The door sounded again, this time with a vibration that conveyed impatience.
"Rogue! Ten minutes. I want you downstairs in the Danger Room with your uniform on," Storm's voice left no room for argument.
Remy held back his laughter. Taking advantage of the young woman's final moment of distraction, he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against the side of her neck, above her turtleneck, seeking the spot where the warmth of his body transferred best through the fabric.
"Be careful with my skin!" she warned in a tense whisper, shrinking slightly at the shiver his gesture sent through her.
"I always am, Rogue. Always," he replied, giving her one last wink filled with complicity.
Remy gave one of Rogue's hands a final squeeze and began walking backward toward the balcony, never taking his eyes off hers. His outstretched fingers continued to brush against hers, prolonging their physical contact as much as possible, centimeter by centimeter, until the distance made it impossible for them to keep their hands joined. Their fingertips slipped apart, and the empty space between them filled with air.
With the fluid agility that characterized him, Remy made an acrobatic backward leap onto the edge of the mansion's stone balcony railing. He balanced there for a second, offering Rogue one last conquering smile, then sprang backward and began climbing down the side of the building, using the protruding bricks and vines as if they were an ordinary staircase. Rogue leaned out for a moment, watching him descend with an involuntary smile on her face, before closing the balcony doors and running toward the Danger Room.
Meanwhile, Remy descended the wall of the X-Mansion with the skill of a cat. His feet, covered only by his socks, found silent footholds on the wall's moldings. When he was about ten feet above the ground, he let go, cushioning his fall with a perfect bend of his knees on the damp grass of the back garden.
He immediately straightened up, brushing off his sweatpants, and began walking briskly, trying to circle around the west wing of the building so he could enter through the kitchen or the garage before the other students or teachers came out into the hallways. He was so focused on planning his alibi that he did not look ahead.
As he rounded the corner, he came face to face with a strong figure walking in the opposite direction. They nearly collided, but Remy stopped abruptly and instinctively took a step backward to keep his distance.
Logan stood in front of him, wearing a white tank top, a brown leather jacket over it, and a pair of worn jeans. When he saw him, his brow furrowed. He fixed his intense eyes directly on the Cajun. Remy swallowed almost imperceptibly. Despite all the self-confidence he usually displayed to the world, and despite acting as freely and carefree as anyone in their early twenties, old man Logan commanded tremendous respect from him. There was an innate lethality about the rugged Canadian that Remy preferred not to test unless absolutely necessary, no matter how hard he tried to conceal that fear beneath a layer of Southern charm.
Logan growled, a low sound that rose from deep in his throat. He took several steps forward, and Remy backed away without saying a word. He looked at the west wing of the mansion, then shifted his gaze upward toward the students' balconies. His hunter's eyes began to trace the path Remy had taken minutes earlier: starting at Rogue's balcony and passing through the vines. Then he slowly lowered his gaze to follow Remy's footprints in the grass. Finally, his eyes settled on him and scanned his appearance. He crossed his arms.
He looked him up and down. His gaze stopped at his shoeless feet, his socks covered in grass and damp dirt, before moving on to the athletic clothing that covered every inch of his skin, gloves included. Logan did not need to be a telepath to put two and two together. Remy's scent lingered in the girl's room, and hers mingled with his.
"LeBeau," Logan grumbled, narrowing his eyes. "It's awfully early for a walk in the garden, don't you think? And I see you left something important in your room. You must be pretty stupid to forget your shoes."
Remy forced his best friendly smile, raising his hands in a gesture of apparent innocence.
"The morning air in Westchester is very invigorating, mon ami. I just wanted to stretch my legs before breakfast. Sometimes I like going out in my socks to feel the fresh grass. It's a Southern habit."
Logan took another firm step forward, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped an octave, losing every trace of irony and becoming dangerously serious.
"Listen carefully, kid. Rogue isn't just an essential member of this team on the battlefield, she is also one of my favorites in this madhouse. She's been through too many bad things for some thief from New Orleans to come along and play games with her. So be very careful about your intentions. If you break her heart, or put her in danger because you can't control your hands, there won't be a place in this world where you can hide from me. Am I clear?"
Remy's smile faded slightly, but it did not disappear. The seriousness in his reddish eyes showed that he had received the message loud and clear. He straightened his posture, adopting an air of dignity and respect.
"By now, you should know me better than that, Logan. I don't have any bad intentions toward Rogue. You have nothing to worry about," he replied, keeping his tone respectful but firm.
Logan stared at him for a few endless seconds, as though measuring the truthfulness of his words by the rhythm of his heartbeat. Finally, the older mutant relaxed his shoulders a little and snorted.
Remy, seeing an opportunity to break the tension, began sidestepping to go around him and continue on his way. However, before picking up his pace, he stopped, looked back at the Canadian over his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow, his expression mixing mischief with genuine concern.
"Are you going to tell Scott or the Professor?"
Logan let out an irritated sigh, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he resumed walking in the opposite direction.
"No, I'm not a damn snitch" Logan replied without bothering to look at him. "Besides, it's too early. I haven't even had my damn coffee yet, LeBeau. I don't have the patience or the energy to deal with Cyclops's drama or Charles's moral speeches at this hour. I'm not interested in talking to you any longer, either. Get out of my sight, kid."
Remy smiled, relieved and sincerely grateful.
"Have an excellent day, Logan!" the Cajun called out cheerfully.
Without wasting another second, Remy turned around and sprinted toward the mansion's back entrance, his socks damp with the morning dew, but his heart lighter and happier than it had been throughout his entire time there.
He wanted to sing «T’es Si Aisé Pour Aimer», jump for joy, and even shout with excitement. He quickened his pace to reach his room. He wanted to be ready for the next time he and Rogue crossed paths.
A huge smile spread across his face as he once again felt certain that the distance between him and Rogue was growing smaller. Summer was approaching, and he knew that, with her by his side, it would be unforgettable.