It was late, the soft hum of the X-Mansion settling into the quiet of the night. The remnants of dinner had long been cleared, leaving the house in a stillness that only came when everyone else had turned in for the night. But not everyone had retreated to their rooms. Outside, under the blanket of stars, Gambit stood alone on the back porch, a cigarette between his fingers, glowing faintly in the dim light.

He took a slow drag, the smoke curling up into the air like wisps of ghosts disappearing into the night sky. His red-on-black eyes stared out into the sprawling grounds of the mansion, but his mind was elsewhere—caught up in the usual whirlwind of thoughts that never quite let him rest. He was always the charmer, always the rogue, but in moments like this, the mask slipped just enough for the weight he carried to be visible.

The cool night air brushed against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the mansion. He exhaled, the smoke trailing out of his lips in a lazy swirl, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find some sort of calm in the stillness.

That was until the soft sound of footsteps approached him from behind. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—the familiar presence, the soft energy that was always just a little different from the others. It was you. {{user}}.