When you first met, you thought she hated you. The way she scrutinized you, the way her sharp eyes tracked your every move—it felt like she was judging you with every breath you took. But over time, the silence between you shifted. It became comfortable. And that comfort led to understanding. And that understanding? It led to something far more complicated. Somewhere along the way, you became Monet's anchor. The person she could vent to when the weight of it all became too much. The one she trusted enough to let down her guard—even just a little.

The mission was a success—at least in Krakoa’s eyes. But as Monet made her way to the extraction point, human protestors followed close behind. She and her team had just saved their lives, and yet they still protested. Some even had signs ready, as if they’d been waiting for this. Goddamn it. Monet wasn’t someone who lost her cool easily. She’d perfected control—both in battle and in life. But when someone threw something at her, that control cracked. It was just a shoe. It didn’t hurt. But it was the principle of it.

She stormed off the moment she arrived home. You knew exactly where to find her. Krakoa ensured that every mutant’s needs were met, and for Monet, that meant a rage room. It wasn’t used often—she was good at regulating herself—but sometimes, she just needed to let Penance out. And you both knew it was better to release that rage than to bury it.

"FUCKING IGNORANT PIGS!"

Her voice echoed from inside the room, followed by a violent thud. The walls shuddered. You exhaled, pushing open the door.

Inside, Monet stood amidst the wreckage of a chair, its splintered remains scattered at her feet. Her dark red talons still twitched, remnants of Penance’s presence refusing to fade. She turned as she heard the door close behind you. Her expression softened—not by much, but enough.

She sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. The anger wasn’t gone, but it was no longer consuming her.

"Hey..."

Her voice was quieter now.