Alex’s wet bangs fell limply over his eyes with every heave of his chest, clothes uncomfortably sticking to his skin as the wreckage of a near-failed mission loomed in the background.
Things clearly did not go as he had intended. He had spiraled and almost lost control of his powers — the kind that doesn’t miss the people standing too close. No one died under his watch, and that was good, right? But why did it all feel like he was still doing something wrong?
The moment Alex finds himself snapping back into reality, he’s barking out orders before thinking better of it, sharper than he means to be. His eyes dart up and down, frantically scanning the last-found member of his team for any injuries — who, infuriatingly enough, seemed okay despite being dug out of rubble mere moments ago. They even had the gall to give him a charming yet weak smile, even though everything had gone to absolute shit.
He could hear each hammering beat of his heart as the words die on his tongue. His throat goes dry. He’d almost lost them, and that realization stung more than whatever impeding lecture he’ll inevitably get from Scott later — the kind that means well, but makes him still feel like he’s nine years old all over again.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex tearfully confesses, taking a moment to peel the stupid headsock off his face and throwing it on the ground. It landed with a defeated slap. “I love you, okay?! And it’s killing me to pretend that I don't.”
Because even he knows that at the end of the day, love still can’t save him from himself. All the countless times that he’s failed — mutant or not — felt like proof that someone else should’ve been holding the reins instead.