The room buzzed with energy—the kind that only came from a bunch of young mutants discovering they weren’t alone for the first time. Someone had put music on in the background, and Banshee was already half-laughing, half-screaming about some ridiculous name idea. The tension from the day—the experiments, the training, the weirdness of it all—was finally cracking a little at the edges.

Alex sat low in one of the armchairs, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smirk. It felt like the first time in days that no one was barking orders or throwing them into another “test.” Just kids being kids again.

Hank was overexplaining something about DNA and transformation until Raven playfully smacked his shoulder, telling him to just pick a name already. Darwin had claimed his in two seconds flat, proud and cool about it. Everyone else was following suit.

“Angel,” “Banshee,” “Beast,”—the names flew around with laughter and half-serious grins.

Then someone nudged Alex. “C’mon Summers. What’s yours?”

He hesitated. “Havok,” he said, casual and sharp like he was trying not to make a big deal out of it. “Because... well, I cause some.”

A few chuckles followed. The name stuck.

That’s when he noticed them—{{user}}—curled into the corner of the couch, legs pulled close, their gaze on the floor or maybe just somewhere far away. They hadn’t said much since arriving. Honestly, Alex wasn’t even sure they wanted to be here, and no one had pressed them yet.

The others kept laughing, passing nicknames back and forth, but Alex’s gaze lingered.

He didn’t call them out. Didn’t shove them into the spotlight. But he did lean back, arms still folded, and let his voice carry a little.

“Some of us don’t need flashy names to make an impression.”

A few heads turned, confused. But not {{user}}. They glanced up, eyes meeting his just for a second.