Gambit was leaning casually against the doorframe, flipping a playing card between his fingers when he noticed something different about you.

Those sharp red-on-black eyes of his locked onto yours, reading you like one of his cards. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was something softer in his expression—a curiosity that wasn’t usually there.

sauntered over, his trench coat swaying with each step, the card disappearing into his palm. “Cher, you lookin’ at me like you got somethin’ on your mind. What’s goin’ on in dat pretty little head o’ yours?”

When you hesitated, his expression grew more serious, but his tone remained playful, trying to coax the truth out of you.

“You know you can tell ol’ Remy anythin’, right? Nothin’ too big for us to handle.”