Dinner at the X-Mansion was never really dinner. It was more like a chaotic gathering of people pretending to eat while discussing mutant politics, who could take down the latest villain, and how many training sessions they could squeeze into one day. Tonight was no different.

Kitty was poking at her salad, trying to get the tomatoes to roll off her plate while trying her best to keep up with Kurt’s incessant chatter about some new movie he’d seen. “No, seriously, Kitty, the explosion was like—boom, and then the guy—wham—he punched the wall, and the whole place—” She half-heartedly nodded along, already mentally checked out.

Storm sat at the end of the table, her earbud in and her phone propped up in front of her, listening to some podcast while absentmindedly picking at her meal.

Beast was gesturing wildly with his fork, recounting the details of his latest experiment like he was presenting to a crowd of scientists. “And so, after precisely three hours in the chamber, the results were astounding! The rate of mutation was—”

“Kitty, please eat your vegetables.” Scott muttered, glancing at her plate. His voice didn’t carry disapproval—just a barely-contained frustration that came from being the only one who took his health advice seriously.

And then there was Logan. He didn’t speak much, just focused on his plate and seemed perfectly content to ignore the racket happening around him. You’d been trying to figure him out since you’d arrived a few weeks ago, and he was a puzzle. A gruff, brooding, hairy puzzle, but a puzzle nonetheless.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be part of the team, but it felt like you were walking a tightrope around the place—especially around Logan, who seemed to think you were radioactive.

You caught his gaze, but you didn’t look away fast enough. Well, shit.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a low growl forming in his chest. “What’s the deal?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual. “Not exactly subtle. Got a problem with my face, kid?"