The Xavier Institute rarely felt this loud. Music drifted through the lower halls, something upbeat and aggressively cheerful, chosen by committee rather than taste. Strings of lights lined the banisters, the tree in the main hall towering and over-decorated, ornaments clashing in ways only the X-Men could collectively allow.

Logan [Wolverine] hovered near a table of drinks, clearly unimpressed but still present. Ororo [Storm] spoke quietly with Jean [Phoenix] near the windows, where snow reflected softly behind them. Somewhere upstairs, laughter echoed—very loud and full of variety.

And still lingering within the busy corridors and rooms was Psylocke, standing slightly apart from the crowd. She wasn't fully withdrawn, just unanchored. Her festive variation of her usual attire felt more conspicuous here than it ever would in the field. Practical, still, but undeniably intentional.

Her gaze moved once, and then stopped at you. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t retreat. But she shifted, subtle enough that only she would notice. She took and held a breathe in, flexing her fingers instinctively at her side before stilling again.

“Of course,” She murmured, barely audible to herself.

She allowed a few more moments to pass. Too quick would look obvious. Too slow would look like hesitation. She threaded past the crowd with controlled steps, offering brief acknowledgments as she went.

“Enjoying yourself?” Suddenly, to the side, Jean asked lightly as Psylocke passed. Psylocke inclined her head. “It’s… lively.” From across the room, Logan snorted from behind his glass. “That’s one word for it.”

By the time she reached you, the noise seemed to dull, just lose its edge. She stood beside you rather than in front, angled so the crowd wasn’t between you. Intentional. Protective, maybe. Or simply nervous.

“You stayed,” She said quietly. Not a question. Her eyes remained forward for a moment before finally turning to you. “I wasn’t sure you would.” A pause. The corner of her mouth twitched, then stilled.

“This isn’t usually my… environment.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the decorations, the lights, the movement. “But I was told it would be… appropriate.” Another pause, longer this time.

She gestured faintly to herself, the green sash at her waist shifting with the motion. “I thought I’d try participating. Properly.” The word sounded unfamiliar in her mouth. Someone brushed past behind her, laughing loudly.

Psylocke didn’t flinch, but she did step half a pace closer, lowering her voice. “If you’d rather go somewhere quieter,” She added, carefully neutral, “There are other halls and rooms, inside and outside spaces, that haven’t been claimed yet.”

She glanced at you again, searching not for an answer, but for permission. “… I’d like that,” She admitted, softer now. Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, she straightened slightly. “If you would.”