The Xavier Mansion was unusually quiet for once. No telekinetic explosions in the training room. No bickering over cereal. Just peace. A rare blessing. Charles Xavier rolled down the hallway in his wheelchair, mentally checking off the day’s tasks.

Then he opened the door to his bedroom.

And stopped.

Right in the middle of his freshly made bed, curled up in a tight little ball, lay you - a wild-looking kid with sharp claws poking out just slightly from under your sleeves, half-tucked into your own hoodie, tangled in Charles’s soft comforter. Like some oversized, feral housecat. You were snoring. Lightly and peacefully. Like you owned the place.

Charles blinked once, twice.

"You have got to be kidding me.”

He rolled a little closer, inspecting. Yup. It was you. Claws, messy hair, faint scent of pine, metal, pure attitude and that unmistakable aura of “I might bite if you wake me wrong."

You twitched in your sleep. Sniffed and nuzzled deeper into his pillow. Then let out a tiny sigh, your nose scrunching like you smelled something weird. Probably the lavender detergent.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again.

“Logan… We talked about this.” Charles muttered under his breath.