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Chapter Text

Kurt had just stepped out of the Danger Room, sweat dripping down his face and soaking his clothes. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath after the intense training. Every muscle in his body protested, aching from the effort, but he felt it had been worth it.

"You did really well today, Kurt."

Raven's voice made him turn to face her. She was smiling at him, an expression of pride shining in her eyes. Kurt felt his face heat up, his cheeks instantly turning red. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments like that, and his tail instinctively curled around one of his legs.

"Danke, I tried my best," he replied, his voice coming out a little hesitant.

"Come on, Kurt, you stink worse than a wet skunk."

Scott appeared beside him, running a hand through his own sweat-dampened hair. He wasn’t in much better condition than Kurt—his shirt clung to his body, and his face was smudged with dust and sweat.

"Hey! That’s not true!" Kurt protested, making a face, but he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"It is, man. I can smell you from here," Scott teased, pretending to pinch his nose shut.

Kurt huffed, crossing his arms, but before he could retort, Jean walked past them, wrinkling her nose.

"I hate to admit it, but Scott's right this time."

Kurt's eyes widened in shock.

"Betrayal!" he exclaimed theatrically, placing a hand on his chest as if he had been stabbed. Jean laughed, shaking her head before continuing down the hallway.

"Well, in that case, I guess I need an urgent shower," Kurt admitted, relaxing his tired shoulders.

"Great idea. Just don’t disappear halfway there!" Scott joked, winking at him before heading to his own room.

Kurt chuckled quietly and, with one last tired sigh, teleported to the nearest bathroom.

Hot water cascaded over his skin, bringing immediate relief to his sore muscles. He closed his eyes, letting the tension melt away. Training in the Danger Room was always a challenge, but in the end, moments like these—the laughter, the teasing, and the feeling of belonging—made it all worthwhile.

—

It had been two months since the X-Men defeated Apocalypse. The world was still recovering from the destruction left behind, and the mutants who had once been mere students had now become true heroes. But even with victory, the scars of the conflict remained.

Kurt remembered every moment of the battle—the screams, the explosions, the helplessness he felt when he saw his friends fighting while he himself blacked out at one point, unable to contribute to the final outcome. Even so, he later learned that his role had been crucial. He wasn’t just a spectator. He had helped as much as he could, and that was enough to make him feel like he belonged.

Since then, the X-Men had dedicated themselves not only to training but also to helping those in need. The destruction caused by Apocalypse was vast, and Charles Xavier had made it clear that it was their duty to extend a hand to those who needed it—humans and mutants alike.

On that particular day, Kurt was sitting in the mansion’s gardens, watching the cloudy sky as he reflected on everything that had happened.

"Kurt, can you come to my office as soon as possible?"

Professor Xavier’s voice echoed in his mind, catching him off guard. He jolted, placing a hand over his chest as his tail twitched involuntarily. It was still difficult to get used to Charles' words suddenly appearing inside his head.

"Ja, Professor, I'm on my way!" Kurt replied mentally, feeling a slight nervousness grow inside him.

He stood up and walked through the mansion’s long hallways, greeting some of the other students as he passed. Jean and Ororo were chatting near the entrance to the main hall, and Scott was training with Peter in the yard. Life at the mansion carried on, even after everything they had been through.

Stopping in front of Xavier’s office door, Kurt took a deep breath before knocking lightly.

"Come in."

Kurt turned the doorknob and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Charles was seated behind his desk, his expression calm but attentive. He gestured for Kurt to come closer.

"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?"

"Yes, Kurt. Please, have a seat."

The teleporter obeyed, sitting in the chair across from the Professor. His curiosity grew.

"I've heard you're doing very well in your training," Charles said, his voice as steady and calm as always. He was seated behind his desk, observing Kurt with a serious but welcoming expression.

"Well, I wouldn’t say that… but I try to be better," Kurt replied, feeling slightly embarrassed as his tail curled around his leg. He still wasn’t used to the praise and constant attention he had received since joining the X-Men. With each passing day, he felt closer to becoming the person he always wanted to be, but the weight of that responsibility was also beginning to press down on his shoulders.

Charles gave a small smile, noticing Kurt’s shyness. He knew the young mutant had his insecurities, but he was certain that Kurt was becoming a valuable member of the team.

"Don’t be so modest, Kurt," Charles said, his tone both firm and friendly. "I know how much effort you’ve put in. And because of that, I have a mission for you. And for you alone."

Kurt frowned, confused. "A mission just for me? Alone?!" he questioned, his heartbeat quickening. The idea of being sent on a mission alone, without his friends and teammates, made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure he had the skills to handle a mission without their support.

"Yes, Kurt. Just you," Charles said, his gaze serious but with a touch of confidence in his voice. "This isn’t the kind of mission that requires brute force or direct combat. I believe you have the right qualities to handle it."

Kurt was still hesitant, but Charles' confidence in him made him feel a bit more assured. "But… why me, Professor? Wouldn’t it be safer with a group?" he asked, trying to understand. "If something goes wrong, how will I handle it alone?"

Charles tilted his head slightly, as if considering the best way to explain. "I know it’s a big responsibility, Kurt. But it’s precisely because of who you are—because of your unique ability—that you are the only person who can complete this mission. And yes, it will be difficult, but I believe you have everything you need to succeed."

Kurt remained silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle over him. He knew Charles would never ask him to do something without a good reason, but the thought of being alone made him nervous. He knew his teleportation abilities would be useful, but… he wasn’t sure what exactly he would be facing.

"What exactly is this mission, Professor?" Kurt finally asked, his curiosity outweighing his nervousness.

"Kurt, do you remember Warren? The Archangel?" Charles asked, his voice calm but loaded with meaning.

The name made Kurt’s heart skip a beat. How could he forget? He remembered the fight in the Berlin cage match, the way the crowd roared around them, hungry for violence. He remembered Warren’s cold eyes, the metallic sheen of his lethal wings, and the moment when, unintentionally, he was responsible for destroying them.

Even after everything, it still haunted him. He deeply regretted what he had done. He knew Warren had no choice in that fight, just as he himself had none. And yet, something inside Kurt always made him feel that he could have done something different. He could have held back. He could have found a way not to be responsible for taking away what made Warren feel whole.

But he had never gotten the chance to say that. Never had the opportunity to truly apologize.

"Ja, I remember," Kurt said, his voice quieter than he intended.

Charles nodded slightly, noticing the subtle shift in Kurt’s expression.

"We’ve learned that he’s in Berlin, and I want you to go find him and convince him to come to the school."

Kurt blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected that.

"Me? But, Professor, I don’t know if he… wants to see me. After what happened…" Kurt lowered his ears, avoiding Charles’ gaze. "I don’t know if I’m the best person for this."

"That's precisely why I want you to go," Charles said, his voice firm. "Warren needs someone who understands what he's been through. Someone who can approach him without seeming like a threat. You are that person, Kurt."

Kurt didn’t respond immediately. The idea of returning to Berlin unsettled him. The city brought back confusing memories—the adrenaline of the ring, the fear of being discovered, the feeling of fighting for his own survival. But above all, the memory of Warren standing before him, wings spreading like the vision of a vengeful angel, just before everything fell apart.

"Professor, I..." He began, hesitant. "What if he hates me? What if he doesn’t want to listen to me?"

Charles smiled gently.

"Then, at the very least, you will have tried."

Kurt swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the mission settle upon him.

"He has spent these past months wandering aimlessly, Kurt," Charles continued. "Lost, without a purpose, without a home. He needs help, even if he won’t admit it. And I know that, deep down, he doesn’t want to be alone. We all need someone."

Kurt took a deep breath. He understood all too well what it was like to be alone, to feel like he belonged nowhere. If he could help Warren find a path, even if it was just by offering him a refuge, then he would go.

"I'll do it," he said, determined.

Charles nodded, satisfied.

"Good. You'll leave at dawn tomorrow. Jean will assist with the coordinates, and Ororo has already prepared everything you'll need. Remember, Kurt, this isn't just about convincing him. It's about showing him that he still has choices. That he doesn’t have to keep wandering alone."

Kurt took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and purpose. He didn’t know what he would find in Berlin or how Warren would react to seeing him, but he knew he had to try.

And maybe, this would be his chance to finally say the words he never had the opportunity to.

Chapter Text

Kurt was feeling particularly nervous. Not just because it would be his first mission alone, but because he knew he would encounter Warren. The memory of the fight in the ring, the impact of his wings burning under the pressure, was still vivid in his mind. He felt that this mission was not just about convincing him to come to the mansion, but about something much deeper. He knew he had inflicted a wound on Warren, a wound that wouldn't heal easily. What would he say? Greet him, offer him the opportunity to come to the mansion... It was simple, but he feared it would be in vain. Still, he thought it wouldn't hurt to try. After all, what else could he do?

"It will be okay, Kurt." Charles' voice sounded calmly in his mind, trying to reassure him. Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, trying to absorb what the professor said. He hoped Charles was right, but the doubt still lingered. What if he failed? What if Warren didn't want help, rejected everything he had to offer?

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on what lay ahead. The mission. The chance to perhaps change something, to perhaps right the wrongs of the past.

The sound of the jet slicing through the wind in the distance snapped Kurt from his thoughts. He was already inside the aircraft, the cabin quiet around him, except for the soft hum of the engines. Jean was sitting beside him, her presence comforting, but her attentive gaze and understanding smile only made Kurt feel the weight of his own nerves intensify. She was there to guide and support him, but also to leave him alone when necessary. She would do whatever it took to help him, but she wouldn't interfere. He knew that, in some way, it made the mission even harder. There was no escape. He would have to do it alone.

"Are you nervous? I can see it on your face." Jean said, her voice soft and perceptive. Kurt looked at her, and soon realized that her gentle smile wouldn't relieve his tension as much as he hoped. He knew she could read his mind, but Jean was careful. She always chose not to invade his privacy, respecting his boundaries, which Kurt deeply appreciated.

Kurt gave a forced smile, trying to hide his anxiety. "I... yeah, I guess I am." He didn't want to admit it, but he felt a knot tightening in his stomach. He looked at his hands, his fingers slightly trembling, and his tail moving nervously, as if it had a life of its own. "It's just... a lot, you know? First mission alone, and... there's Warren." He sighed, heavier than he expected. "I don't know where to start with him. I don't know what he's going to say, what he's going to think... How can I do this right?"

Jean looked at him with a deep, but also understanding, gaze. "Kurt, you’re going to do your best, like you always do. And that's what matters." She placed a gentle hand over his. "You don’t need to have all the answers right now. Warren will probably react in ways you don’t expect. What matters is that you’re there for him, and that you're sincere. He’ll see that."

Kurt took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that her words were true. He knew she was right. He had to be sincere because, deep down, that was what he felt. He wanted to help Warren, not just as a member of the X-Men, but because he knew he was dealing with someone who, like him, carried deep scars. And even though he didn't know how Warren would react, he needed to take the first step.

"You're right, Jean." Kurt said, looking at her with more confidence, though still feeling apprehensive. "I just hope he gives me a chance... that I don't mess everything up."

Jean smiled, her gaze conveying tranquility. "You won’t, Kurt. You have a good heart. That’s what he needs to see. And who knows, maybe he’ll see something in you he hasn’t noticed yet."

Kurt looked out the jet's window, watching the clouds pass quickly. In his mind, he tried to prepare for the encounter, mentally rehearsing everything he could say. "I hope so... I really hope so." He murmured to himself.

The jet flew silently toward Berlin, and Kurt felt the weight of the mission settling on his shoulders, but also a growing determination. He knew that no matter how things turned out, he was heading toward something important. Something he needed to do.

They flew in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound breaking the silence being the soft hum of the engine and the thoughts Kurt couldn’t shake from his head. He just hoped that when they got there, he could look Warren in the eye and say the right words. Or, if that wasn’t possible, at least show him that he was there to help. That he was there to make a difference.

Time seemed to pass slowly as the jet cut through the sky toward Berlin. Every cloud that passed the window seemed like a barrier between Kurt and the mission ahead of him.

Jean, beside him, was quiet now, probably giving him the space he needed to organize his thoughts, but Kurt felt the weight of her presence. She was there, by his side, trusting him, even when he doubted himself. He could no longer hide his insecurity, even with his relaxed posture. Jean had the ability to sense everything, even the subtlest of feelings, but she never pressured him.

The jet began to slow down, and Kurt knew they were getting close. He looked out the window again and saw the lights of Berlin approaching. The city at night was always an impressive sight, but now, to Kurt, it seemed like a concrete jungle. Everything seemed too big, and he felt too small. But, at the same time, he felt a sense of duty. He was here for something important, something he needed to do, not just for Warren, but for himself as well.

"We're almost there." Jean said, her voice soft again, but with the same firmness. She looked at him, seeing the tension in Kurt's face. "Remember one thing: you have the support of everyone. You're not alone."

Kurt breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the moment approaching. He looked at Jean one last time before stepping off the jet, trying to absorb her words. She was right, he wasn’t alone. Even though he was doing this alone, there were people who believed in him, who trusted him. And for a moment, that made him feel a little stronger.

The jet flew for a few more minutes before passing over a large church in the middle of Berlin, an imposing building with stained-glass windows and gothic architecture that made it hard not to notice. Kurt watched through the window and saw the church growing larger as they approached. The sky was clear, and the lights of the city below gave a special glow to the night. Kurt felt his heart race, knowing they were getting close. He waved silently to Jean as he saw the jet pull away, and a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. What he was about to do was not easy, but he knew he couldn’t turn back now.

With a deep sigh, Kurt teleported directly to the church's roof. He felt the cold wind of the night hit his face, the fresh air helping to clear his thoughts. The sound of the city below seemed distant, as if he had been transported to another place, one where everything felt quieter, more isolated. The roof was empty except for the shadows stretching across the space. Kurt looked around, feeling the tension build inside him. He knew that somewhere inside, Warren was waiting for him. The fear of how this meeting would go still weighed on him, but Kurt tried to ignore it.

He focused on the mission. Calmly, he moved to the edge of the roof, watching the church's entrance below. Before entering, Kurt closed his eyes for a moment and made the sign of the cross over his chest. A simple gesture, but a reminder of his own strength and his beliefs. He whispered a silent prayer, something that always calmed him in moments of uncertainty. He didn’t know if it made any difference, but it helped ease his anxiety.

When he opened his eyes, he felt a small wave of calm wash over him. It was time to act.

With agility, Kurt blended into the shadows and snuck toward the back door of the church. The loud music from inside grew louder as he approached, a heavy rock beat that reverberated through the walls. Kurt frowned, not a fan of this kind of music. But that didn’t matter. What really mattered was finding Warren and, hopefully, convincing him to come back with him.

The music was so loud that it was almost impossible not to feel the vibration of the sound in the floor. With every step Kurt took, the beats of the music echoed through his body, making his heart beat faster. He had never been very versatile when it came to music styles. Peter always tried to get him to listen to all kinds of music, from rock to classical, until they found something Kurt could really like. But, in the end, he always stuck with what made him feel something real. That’s what mattered. And at that moment, all he needed to feel was the courage to face what was ahead.

As he entered the church, Kurt found himself surrounded by an unconventional setting for a place of worship. The interior was lit by fluorescent lights, and the smell of incense mixed with alcohol filled the air. The candles were almost all burned out, except for a few that still burned slowly on the sides. It was clear that the atmosphere was far from one of prayer, but something darker, more desperate.

And there, in the center of it all, was Warren.

He was facing away from Kurt, his imposing silhouette taking the stage. His steel wings were now an extension of his figure, covered in metallic feathers that gleamed under the light of the lamps. Kurt stood still for a moment, observing the scene. The sight of Warren with those steel wings was both impressive and unsettling. They were so different from his old wings, the ones Kurt remembered fondly. The white feathers, soft, graceful... They were the wings Kurt preferred. He could still picture in his mind the image of Warren flying, with those light and majestic feathers, each movement so fluid and natural. Now, those steel wings were heavy, rigid, and Kurt could feel the pain that Warren was likely carrying with them.

That change, the transformation caused by Apocalypse, seemed to have affected much more than just his body. Kurt knew this. He could see it in Warren's eyes, the emptiness, the coldness that overtook him. It was as if the steel wings had taken something essential from him, something he would never be able to recover. Doubt and anguish spread through Kurt's mind. Did Warren still believe in anything? Or had he been lost forever, transformed by everything Apocalypse had done to him?

Kurt, silently, stepped a little closer, but not enough for Warren to notice him. He hid in the shadows, watching carefully. The sound of the music still filled the church, but now, to Kurt, it felt like a metaphor for the distance between him and Warren. The heavy and unwavering melody seemed to symbolize the emotional barrier separating them. Kurt knew getting closer would be complicated, that Warren probably wasn't interested in listening to anyone. But he needed to try.

With his heart pounding, Kurt finally got close enough for Warren to hear him. He cleared his throat lightly, something to catch his attention without being too intrusive.

"Warren?" Kurt called, his voice echoing through the church. The word dragged through the silence of the night, but soon the music drowned out any chance of it being heard.

But when Warren slowly turned, Kurt saw his eyes, and what he saw was an expression he couldn’t fully decipher. Warren looked at him as if trying to understand who was there, but at the same time, there was something distant and cold in his gaze.

Kurt didn’t know what to say now. What could he say? What would he do if Warren simply told him to leave? He tried to stay calm, but the anxiety surged again. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t escape this mission. And he didn’t want to run anymore. If it was to help Warren, even if he had to face his own demons, he would do it.

“I came here... to offer you a chance. A chance to come back with me... to the mansion.” He said, trying to sound as firm as possible, though he knew his voice trembled slightly.

From Warren's expression, nothing good was coming.

Chapter Text

Kurt felt fear tighten around his throat as the steel feathers shot toward him. He didn't even have time to think—he just acted, teleporting instantly to the opposite side of the church. The feathers passed so close that he could feel the sharp wind they carried, the metallic sound echoing loudly in his ears. Kurt's heart pounded in his chest, and he forced himself to stay calm, but the adrenaline was uncontrollable. He knew that if he were hit, the consequences would be terrible. He was here to talk, not to fight.

"Warren, wait!" Kurt shouted with all his strength, but the moment he spoke, more steel feathers flew toward him. He barely had time to react, forced to teleport again to another spot, jumping into the shadows where he knew he would be invisible. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing, feeling the pressure in his chest grow. What was he doing here? He didn't want to fight Warren. Kurt didn't want anyone else to get hurt—he didn't want more suffering.

"Please, I just want to talk," he murmured, his voice softer, but the tension in his words was clear. A pang of pain struck his chest, the weight of the situation becoming more evident. But there was no other choice—he had to try. Kurt wanted Warren to listen, to know that he was here to help, not to judge. "I'm not like them," he thought, the phrase repeating in his mind, wishing Warren would believe it.

"Warren, please," he said, trying again, his voice echoing softly through the church. But Warren's response came fast and full of rage, like a punch to Kurt’s stomach.

"I have nothing to say to you—or any of you!" Warren's voice was filled with contempt and pain, and Kurt could feel the intensity of those words piercing his heart. It made his tail twitch in frustration and sadness. He wasn't here to fight—he didn’t want this fight. He just wanted Warren to listen. But Warren's anger seemed uncontrollable, a fury that Kurt didn’t know how to calm.

Kurt stayed hidden in the darkness, eyes fixed on Warren as he approached, feeling a silent pain in his chest. He understood that feeling more than he would like to admit. Kurt knew what it was like to feel alone and lost, full of anger, fear, and pain. But he also knew it didn’t have to last forever—that he could help, that there was a way out. He wasn’t here to judge Warren. He wasn’t here to make him feel insignificant. No. Kurt was here to show that there was another way, another choice. He didn’t want Warren to lose himself even more in this abyss of rage and despair.

"You don’t have to do this, Warren," Kurt said, his voice gentler now, full of empathy. "I want to help." He knew it was risky, that his own vulnerability could be his downfall, but he had to try. Warren needed to understand that not everyone was the same, that it wasn’t too late to start over, to seek something different.

Warren started laughing—a loud, bitter laugh that echoed through the church walls, slicing through the silence like a sharp blade. His gaze turned to Kurt with disdain, his eyes glowing with a cold rage, as if the mere fact that Kurt was still here was a cruel joke. He spread his steel wings even wider, the metallic sound filling the space, as if he were about to strike a fatal blow.

"Oh, sure, now you want to help, huh?" Warren mocked, his sarcastic tone dripping with resentment. "How exactly are you going to help me, Kurt? Convince me to go to the school? Make me feel like I belong? Like you did in the ring? Like you helped in Berlin when you destroyed one of my wings?!" He stepped forward, his wings beating heavily behind him, steel feathers glinting dangerously in the dim church light. "You made me weak, you made me feel powerless, and now you show up all nice, thinking you can fix everything? This is a joke, Kurt!"

Warren's words hit Kurt like a direct blow. Their weight crushed his heart, and he felt a lump of regret form in his throat. He didn’t know what to say—how could he fix what he had done? He clearly remembered the fight in the ring, how things had spiraled out of control, and how he had been forced to act without thinking.

Kurt swallowed hard, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. He looked at Warren, his eyes now filled with deep remorse.

"I... I didn’t mean to do that, Warren," he said, his voice trembling. He tried to take a step forward, his tail curling nervously around his leg, but the words stuck in his throat, as if he were trying to express something impossible. "I didn’t want to... I... I was just trying to stop you from hurting me. I'm sorry. I really am."

But Warren didn’t want to hear it. His eyes burned with fury, and his face twisted with disdain. He lunged toward Kurt with frightening speed, his steel feathers flaring behind him like a deadly threat. Kurt took a step back, his body tensing at Warren’s sudden closeness. But Warren didn’t stop. He got even closer, his eyes locked onto Kurt’s, as if determined to make him feel the pain he had caused.

"Don’t give me excuses, Kurt," Warren growled, his words cold and sharp as blades. "You destroyed my wing, and I can’t forget that. Nothing you say will change what happened." He extended his hand forward, and the steel feathers spread out like sharp blades—a threatening spectacle. "You left me wounded, weak, and now you’re trying to play this remorseful act? No! I won’t fall for it again. Now, you’re going to feel what it's like to be weak."

Warren didn’t give Kurt a chance to react. He raised his hands, and the steel feathers shot forward like projectiles, slicing through the air with a deafening metallic sound. Kurt leaped to the side, trying to dodge the attack, but the space was small, and Warren’s assault was relentless. One feather tore through the edge of his cape, another passed so close to his face that he felt the wind pressure. He had to act fast, but he didn’t know how.

Kurt teleported away, to the other side of the church, his body moving at a speed he could barely keep up with. His eyes stayed locked on Warren, who now looked more furious than ever. The feathers continued to fly everywhere, cutting through the air, almost as if controlled by an invisible force—something far more intense than he had imagined. Warren's rage was turning his steel wings into an extension of his own pain.

"I just wanted you to listen, Warren," Kurt said, his voice filled with frustration. He was starting to feel powerless against Warren’s fury. "I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help, but you... you won’t even give me a chance!"

But Warren was beyond reason. He lunged again, his wings beating furiously as he prepared another attack. "You think you can help me, Kurt?" he shouted, the uncontrollable rage in his voice. "You can’t. Not after what you did. Now, you’ll see what happens when someone tries to stop me."

Kurt, in a desperate impulse, teleported again—but this time, he positioned himself behind Warren, doing everything he could to avoid more confrontation. His mind was racing, trying to find a way to stop Warren’s attack without having to use force against him. But things were getting more dangerous, and he knew that soon, it would be too late to avoid a fight.

"I feel absolutely terrible for what I did to your old wings!" Kurt shouted, his voice echoing throughout the church, desperation and regret clear in his words. He swallowed hard, feeling the pressure build inside his chest. "I know what I did, I know how much you suffered. If you want to hurt me, do it! Do whatever you want to me—if it will ease your pain, then do it!"

Those words came out as a scream of relief mixed with shame. He felt like he was finally pouring out all his sincerity, all his pain, hoping that, somehow, it would reach Warren. But instead of reacting the way Kurt expected, Warren stopped for a moment, looking at him with a cruel smile, as if he had been waiting for this moment, as if he had been prepared to hear this plea for pain.

Warren laughed again, this time a manic laughter that seemed to grow louder with every second, as if he was enjoying Kurt’s suffering. He raised one of his hands, making the steel feathers extend even more, as if they were ready to strike once and for all. Kurt knew the attack was coming. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape this time.

And then, with astonishing speed, Warren lunged. Kurt barely had time to see the fury in Warren’s eyes before he was nearly upon him, the sharp steel feathers cutting through the air like blades. Kurt braced himself for the blow, his body tense, but something unexpected happened. When Warren was just inches away from his throat, he suddenly stopped. His gaze wavered for a second, and Kurt felt the air around him grow heavy in a way he couldn’t explain.

Warren hesitated.

Kurt stood still, eyes locked onto Warren, trying to understand what was happening. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For a moment, Warren seemed... uncertain? He had been about to slash Kurt’s throat, but in that second, he stopped. Kurt felt the tension in the air, and then, one of the steel feathers sliced his cheek, leaving a deep but non-fatal cut. Blood began to slowly trickle down his face, and he felt the warmth of pain—but at the same time, he knew this wasn’t the end.

Warren pulled back, his wings beating forcefully, making a metallic sound echo through the church. He stood there, staring at Kurt with a mix of rage and confusion. What was happening to him? Why had he hesitated? Kurt knew he couldn’t fully grasp what was going through Warren’s mind, but something had changed in that moment. The anger was still there, but now, there was something else—something much harder to define.

Chapter Text

Kurt remained silent, hidden in the shadows of the iron beam, watching every movement of Warren as he worked. The sound of steel feathers clashing against the church's metal structure reverberated in the empty, dark space. Kurt felt the weight of the situation and knew that any misstep could ruin everything. He still believed there was a way to get closer to Warren, to make him reconsider the offer to come to the school. But with every passing second, he felt the coldness surrounding Warren. It was as if every move the Archangel made was a declaration that he wanted nothing to do with anyone, with anything.

Warren was focused on his work. He didn't look at Kurt, but Kurt could feel his eyes, even though he couldn't see them. Warren knew Kurt was there, but he preferred to ignore him, preferred not to give any importance to the blue mutant. For Warren, this was his moment, a moment of rebuilding, fixing what had been broken—not just in the church, but within him. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need anyone trying to meddle in his life, especially not someone like Kurt.

Kurt felt a growing weight in his chest. He wanted more than ever to talk to Warren, to understand what was going on in his mind. He knew what Warren was feeling, knew that he was hurt and bitter, but how could he convince someone to step out of their own pain? How could he make someone believe that, in the end, they could find a place where they were accepted, where they could start over without being constantly reminded of what they had lost? He knew Warren was running from that, running from the possibility of being welcomed, but he also knew no one should live like that, running from themselves and their emotions.

As much as Kurt tried to find a way to approach without being noticed, something pushed him to move forward, to break the silence and perhaps take a deeper step into the abyss of trying to save whatever could still be saved. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew Warren was hardened, with wounds deeper than anything Kurt had ever faced. But he couldn't just give up. He couldn't let Warren get lost in his own hatred, in his own resentment. Something inside Kurt urged him to press on, even if he had to face the worst fears and greatest challenges.

For a moment, Kurt thought about descending and walking over to Warren, but the sight of the Archangel repairing the church made him hesitate. What could he say? How could he break the ice now, after everything that had happened? He looked at Warren's metallic wings, gleaming in the faint light coming through the broken window, and felt a pang in his chest. He knew what he had done, knew what he had caused, but none of it seemed enough. Not an apology, not an explanation—nothing seemed enough to repair the damage.

Kurt sighed softly, the sound gentle, like a silent prayer. He moved, gliding along the beam with characteristic agility. Perhaps he could try a more direct approach, without so much tension, without so much pressure. Kurt knew he couldn't change the past, but maybe, if he was patient, if he was honest, he could help Warren see that there was more to the future than revenge and anger.

Finally, he silently descended to the ground, making no noise, and approached Warren, who was still focused on what he was doing. Kurt stopped a few steps away, observing Warren's meticulous movements as he worked on the parts of the church that had fallen. He seemed so distant, so immersed in his own thoughts, that he didn't notice Kurt until the sound of his voice broke the silence.

"Need help?" Kurt asked, referring to the beams Warren was trying to fix alone.

Warren scoffed, not even looking at him. "No." His response was dry, short, laden with the usual weight. He then grabbed a bottle lying near his feet, and Kurt recognized the strong smell before Warren even brought the glass to his lips. It was tequila. Warren tilted his head back and took two large gulps, without hesitation.

Kurt sighed quietly. He knew pushing the school issue now would be a mistake. Warren clearly didn't want to hear anything about it, and forcing the topic would only push him further away. Maybe it was better to change strategy. He decided that, instead of trying to convince him, he would simply stay there. He would just keep him company. If Warren wanted to talk, he would listen. If he wanted to ignore him, Kurt would accept it. But he wasn't going to leave.

He moved slowly, not wanting to alarm Warren, and sat down on the ground, leaning against a broken pillar. He kept his tail wrapped around one of his legs, a habit he had when trying to appear smaller or less threatening. Not that he thought Warren saw him as a threat, but the Archangel definitely saw him as an annoyance.

"Do you always drink like this?" Kurt asked after a moment, watching Warren swing the bottle in his hand.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Do you always ask stupid questions?" he retorted, taking another gulp.

Kurt smiled slightly. "I guess so," he admitted, shrugging. "But at least I'm not asking about the school, right?"

Warren fell silent for a moment, then let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. "At least there's that." He threw his head back, resting against the wall, and stared up at the church's destroyed ceiling. "But you're still here. Bet Charles sent you to keep an eye on me like a good, obedient X-Man."

Kurt shook his head. "Charles sent me to find you, yes. But staying here now is my choice."

Warren turned his head to look at him, his gaze assessing, suspicious. "And why? What do you get out of this?"

Kurt hesitated for a moment before responding. "Maybe I just want to really get to know you. Not the Warren who fights in rings, or the Warren who attacked me earlier. But the Warren who's here. The Warren who's trying to fix this church, alone, while drinking tequila."

Warren laughed again, this time a little more genuinely. "That Warren isn't very interesting, I’m sorry to say."

Kurt smiled wryly. "I disagree."

The silence fell between them again, but this time it didn't feel so heavy. Warren seemed less stiff, less ready to lash out at any moment. He still didn't trust Kurt, of course. But for some reason, he didn't send him away either.

Kurt looked around the church, observing the destroyed beams, the pieces of wood and metal scattered on the ground. He didn't understand why Warren chose this place. Why, out of all the places to hide, he ended up in a church?

"Do you believe in God?" Kurt asked suddenly.

Warren furrowed his brow, clearly taken off guard by the question. He twisted the bottle in his hand, thinking. "I used to, once. When I was still a stupid kid who thought he was born with wings because he was special. Because he had a purpose." He snorted. "But then things changed. Then I realized this..." He opened and closed his metal wings, the sound of metal clashing echoing through the church. "This has nothing to do with God."

Kurt lowered his gaze for a moment, absorbing those words. He understood. He understood more than Warren could imagine.

"I still believe," he said, finally, his voice soft.

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Even after everything? Even after being born... like this?" He made a vague gesture toward Kurt, as if referring to his blue skin, his tail, his bright yellow eyes.

Kurt simply smiled faintly. "Yes. Especially because of that."

Warren stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he thought that was stupid or impressive. He shook his head and took another gulp from the bottle. "You're a lost cause, man."

Kurt chuckled softly. "I know."

They stayed there for a while, without saying anything. Just sharing the space, the company. And for the first time, Warren didn't seem desperate for Kurt to leave.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was a kind of silence that felt... peaceful. As if, for a moment, Warren wasn't trying to push Kurt away, and Kurt wasn't trying to convince him of anything. They were just there, existing in the same space, without the need for explanations.

Kurt kept watching Warren, his eyes fixed on the way he held the bottle, his fingers tightening around the glass as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. There was something in the way he stared at the church's ceiling, as if trying to see something that wasn't there anymore.

"Why here?" Kurt asked, finally. "Why this church?"

Warren let out a heavy sigh, lowering his head and swirling the bottle in his hand, watching the liquid inside it spin slowly. For a moment, Kurt thought he wouldn't answer. But then, in a low, almost hesitant voice, Warren murmured:

"This is where I used to come when things at home got bad."

Kurt furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side. "Bad how?"

Warren let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You didn't read the papers about my dad? The great Warren Worthington II? The man who created the cure for mutants?" He spat the words with contempt, as if they were poison in his mouth. "Guess what? He had a mutant living in his own house."

Kurt fell silent, just listening.

"When my wings started to grow, he tried to hide them. Made me wear straps, bandages, anything to keep them pinned against my back. But when it became too obvious to ignore... he tried to cut them off."

Kurt's heart tightened in his chest. "Mein Gott..."

"This is where I hid after that," Warren continued, not looking at him. "I spent hours sitting on these benches, alone, trying to understand what I had done wrong. Why I was like this. Why I couldn’t just be... normal."

Kurt felt a weight in his throat. He understood that feeling. He understood it better than Warren could imagine.

"But you know what the worst part was?" Warren laughed, but there was nothing funny in his tone. "Even after all that, even after what he did... I still wanted him to accept me. I still wanted him to look at me and see me as a son. Not as a mistake."

Kurt didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say something. He wanted to find the right words to comfort him, to make Warren understand that he wasn’t a mistake, that he never was. But what could he say? How could he change years and years of pain and rejection with just a few sentences?

So, instead, he just said the only thing he knew to be true.

"You’re not a mistake, Warren."

Warren scoffed, spinning the bottle in his hand again. "Tell that to my father."

"Your father isn’t God."

Warren looked up at him, surprised by the firmness in his voice.

"Your father might have tried to erase you, might have tried to make you feel like you shouldn’t exist, but that doesn’t mean he was right," Kurt continued, not breaking eye contact. "You don’t need his acceptance to be who you are."

Warren stared at him for a long moment. There was something in his eyes – something undefined, something that seemed almost... vulnerable. But then he looked away, letting out a weak laugh.

"You talk like it’s that easy."

Kurt shrugged. "I know it’s not."

Another silence fell between them, but this time it was different. It was heavier. Like there was something unsaid floating in the air, something neither of them quite knew how to deal with.

Finally, Warren broke the silence.

"So is that why you still believe in God?" He asked, not looking at Kurt. "Because you need to believe there’s a purpose to all of this?"

Kurt thought for a moment before answering.

"I believe because I want to believe," he said simply. "Because the idea that there’s something bigger than us, something that made us this way for a reason, gives me comfort."

Warren sighed, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling again. "I wish it were that easy for me."

Kurt smiled slightly. "Maybe one day it will be."

Warren didn’t respond. He just sat there, next to him, holding the bottle of tequila like it was his only companion. But for the first time since Kurt arrived, Warren didn’t seem to want him to leave.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Kurt watched Warren's every movement as the other walked through the church. The dynamic between them was strange, at least from Kurt’s perspective. It wasn’t like they had created any connection yet, but there was something there, a silent tension that manifested in avoided glances, restrained gestures, and the constant presence each exerted over the other. It was hard to ignore the feeling that Warren wanted to get rid of him, but at the same time, he wasn’t doing anything to truly push him away. He just tolerated him, and Kurt didn’t quite know what to make of it.

The sky outside was already darkening, the last rays of sunlight disappearing on the horizon. The church felt even colder and quieter with the arrival of night, and Kurt began to wonder where exactly he would sleep. He didn’t intend to leave without Warren, but he also didn’t want to invade the other’s space any more than he already had without permission. He was starting to consider whether he’d have to sleep on the roof when he saw Warren moving away, heading to a more inner part of the church where the priest would normally sleep or store some belongings. Without thinking too much, Kurt followed behind him, moving silently, his feet light against the stone floor. Warren didn’t seem bothered by this, or perhaps he was just pretending Kurt wasn’t there.

The church was dark, but Warren seemed to know the way well. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop, just kept walking with firm steps until he reached a worn wooden door. The wood was weathered, scratched in some places, as if someone had tried to carve something there a long time ago. Warren pushed the door open, and it creaked in protest before opening completely. The space on the other side was small and simple, a sort of makeshift room. There was a bed that looked uncomfortable, a thin mattress thrown over a rusty metal frame. Shelves lined one wall, filled with old books and objects scattered without much organization. The smell of the place was a mix of dust and alcohol, something Kurt wasn’t surprised by after seeing Warren drinking earlier.

He stood at the door, watching as Warren entered without hesitation, going straight to one of the shelves. The other grabbed a thick book, holding it in his hands as though it were something important. Kurt stayed quiet, unsure whether he should enter or if Warren would finally tell him to leave. But Warren didn’t say anything, just opened the book and flipped through some pages, not seeming truly interested in the content. The silence between them stretched, filled with an almost tangible tension.

Kurt didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he was waiting for Warren to finally get annoyed and tell him to leave. Or maybe he was waiting for the other to give in a little, to let slip something, anything, that would make him understand better what was going on inside that head. But nothing happened. Warren simply stayed there, ignoring his presence, pretending there wasn’t a blue mutant standing at the door of his personal space.

The night deepened outside, and the wind made the church’s windows tremble slightly. The cold began to settle into the air, but Warren seemed immune to it. He kept flipping through the book, his eyes moving across the pages without Kurt knowing if he was actually reading or just pretending.

Time passed slowly, and Kurt realized that even without words, his presence there already meant something. He didn’t know if Warren needed help, company, or just someone who didn’t treat him like an enemy or a responsibility. But somehow, he felt that staying there was the right thing to do. Even if Warren never admitted it, even if he never showed it clearly, there was something in that forced solitude that told Kurt Warren wasn’t as okay as he wanted to make it seem.

The silence between them wasn’t oppressive, but it was filled with unspoken things. Maybe this was the beginning.

“If you plan to sleep here, it won’t be in my room, get out.” Warren said without even looking at Kurt.

His tone wasn’t exactly aggressive, but it left no room for argument. It was a direct order, blunt, and Kurt knew it was no use insisting. His heart sank a little at hearing that, but he wasn’t surprised. Warren wasn’t willing to share his space with him, and that was understandable. After all, he still saw Kurt as an enemy, or at least as someone he didn’t want around.

Kurt lowered his head for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wanted to protest, say he wasn’t there to bother him, but he knew that any attempt at dialogue would only irritate Warren even more. Accepting the other’s decision, he just nodded slightly and took a step back, leaving the room without making a sound.

Now, the big question was: where would he sleep? He looked around the church, observing the interior. There weren’t exactly many comfortable spots. The wooden pews seemed too hard to serve as a bed, and the stone floor would definitely not be a pleasant option. He could try to find a less cold corner, maybe somewhere near the altar where he could curl up and spend the night, but nothing really seemed suitable.

The easiest option would be to teleport back to the mansion and sleep in his own bed, where he would be comfortable and warm. But if he did that, he would have to teleport back to the church in the morning, which would require energy. Also, there was the risk that Warren might disappear during the night, and Kurt didn’t want to take that chance. He had decided he would stay there, and he wasn’t going to give up so easily.

Looking around once more, he realized the only place that might work was the high part of the church. There were beams of wood near the ceiling, thick enough to support his weight. He could sleep there, away from the cold of the floor and relatively safe. Of course, it wouldn’t be the most comfortable place in the world, but he had slept in worse conditions before.

Sighing, he teleported to one of the beams, landing softly on the wood. He lay there, trying to find a comfortable position, although he knew he wouldn’t sleep very well. The wood was hard against his back, and the cold wind that entered through the cracks in the building made his skin prickle. Even so, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Down below, he could still hear Warren moving around. The sound of pages turning, the soft noise of a glass being placed on the table. Kurt knew Warren wasn’t sleeping. He’d probably stay awake for a long time, lost in his own thoughts or simply refusing to let his guard down.

Time passed slowly. The night wore on, and Kurt felt the fatigue weigh on his body. He curled up slightly, hugging his own tail to try to keep warm. His body ached a little from the uncomfortable position, but he didn’t complain. It was better than nothing.

Warren, although aware that Kurt was somewhere sleeping in the church – even if he didn’t know exactly where – managed to fall asleep. It wasn’t a deep or peaceful sleep, but it was enough to rest a little. His body was always on alert, accustomed to never fully letting his guard down, even when he was exhausted. The feeling of constant danger never left him, and Kurt’s presence, as harmless as it seemed, was still something new and uncomfortable for him.

When morning came, Warren opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the weak light that entered through the cracks in the church’s broken windows. His body still hurt, as always, a constant reminder of the battles he had faced and the scars he carried. He sat up on the makeshift bed, rubbing his face with his hands before finally getting up.

As he left the room, he instinctively looked around, checking the surroundings as he always did. His eyes went up to the ceiling, and that’s when he saw it. A long blue tail lazily hung from one of the wooden beams, swaying slightly in the air. His eyes continued to travel upward until they found the curled-up figure on the wood. Kurt was sleeping up there, looking like a cat that had found the highest and safest place to rest.

Warren grunted, crossing his arms. The sight of the blue mutant sleeping like that should have been annoying, but for some reason, he didn’t feel the anger he expected. Just a slight frustration and maybe – just maybe – a little bit of curiosity. How the hell did he manage to sleep like that without falling? Or better yet, why did he choose that place instead of just leaving?

He rolled his eyes and decided to ignore Kurt. It wasn’t his problem where he slept or what he was doing there. If he wanted to act like a damn bat hanging from the ceiling, so be it. Warren continued on his way, heading to a more distant part of the church where he had set up a small kitchen.

The place wasn’t big, just a corner of the church with an old table, some makeshift shelves, and a small gas stove he used to cook. Warren didn’t have much food there. He never stocked more than necessary, just enough to get by for the week. Living that way was more practical for him. Less attachment, fewer things to carry if he needed to leave suddenly.

He opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a piece of bread and a bottle of water. He cooked an egg and put it on the bread. As he ate, a thought crossed his mind. Kurt had arrived the night before, and as far as Warren knew, hadn’t left the church even for a moment. Which meant he probably hadn’t eaten anything since then.

He found himself staring at the bread in his hand for a few seconds, his thoughts swirling in his mind. He shouldn’t care. Kurt wasn’t his problem. But at the same time, something bothered him at the idea of someone going hungry just by being there, especially someone who, no matter how annoying, seemed genuinely concerned about him.

Warren sighed, shaking his head to push that thought away. He shouldn’t think like this. He couldn’t. He didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone around. It would only bring trouble.

Warren gritted his teeth and moved closer to the beam where Kurt was curled up, arms crossed as he looked up impatiently. He couldn’t just ignore him forever.

He took a deep breath before speaking, trying to keep his patience.

"Hey." His voice came out firm, but without much effort. If Kurt was lightly asleep, that should be enough to wake him.

However, nothing happened. Not a single movement. Kurt remained still, completely lost in sleep, his tail hanging lazily in the air.

Warren furrowed his brow. How the hell could he sleep so deeply here?

"Hey, idiot!" He tried again, this time raising his voice. But, to his frustration, Kurt didn’t even budge.

Warren’s patience was running thin. This was ridiculous. Did Kurt really have no survival instincts? Didn’t he fear something might happen while he slept near someone who had plenty of reasons to want him gone?

Irritated, Warren made a quick decision. He spread his metal wings and flapped hard, the impact creating a powerful gust of wind that shook the room and sent dust flying into the air. The effect was immediate.

Kurt was caught off guard by the sudden gust, and before he could react, he lost his balance. His body fell from the beam with a surprised shout, arms flailing in the air as he tried to grab onto something. But there was nothing within reach, and in a matter of seconds, he hit the ground with a dull thud.

Warren landed immediately, crossing his arms and looking at Kurt with a look of disdain.

The blue mutant groaned in pain, blinking a few times as he recovered from the impact. His tail moved beside his body, showing his discomfort. He then turned his face upwards, meeting Warren’s gaze, who was staring at him with a decidedly unfriendly expression.

There was a heavy silence in the air. Warren expected some reaction – maybe a complaint, maybe an accusing look. But to his surprise, Kurt just sighed and slowly sat up, rubbing his head.

Warren raised an eyebrow.

"Finally awake?" he said sarcastically, watching Kurt stretch his limbs, still sleepy.

Kurt blinked a few times, seeming to process what had happened. He then looked up, noticing the empty beam where he had been sleeping before falling. Slowly, he seemed to understand what had occurred, and his gaze shifted back to Warren.

Warren kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was expecting some complaint. However, to his surprise, Kurt just gave him a faint smile – one of those patient, almost annoying smiles.

"If you wanted to wake me up, there were less violent ways, don’t you think?" Kurt finally said, his voice light, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Warren felt a slight urge to roll his eyes. Kurt’s calm tone irritated him more than if he had been complaining.

"If you didn’t sleep like a rock, I wouldn’t need to do this," he shot back, his tone dry.

Kurt just shrugged, still sitting on the ground. Warren noticed that, despite the fall, he didn’t seem hurt – just a little dazed. Not that he cared, of course.

A silence settled between them for a few seconds. Warren felt like Kurt was watching him with curiosity, and that bothered him. He hated being analyzed, hated someone trying to see beyond what he allowed to be shown.

"Here." Warren extended a sandwich with egg and a bottle of water to Kurt, without even looking at him. The gesture was almost robotic, as if he wanted to get rid of it quickly. He didn’t want it to seem like he was being nice – because he definitely wasn’t. He just didn’t want the blue mutant to pass out from hunger here in the church and become an even bigger problem.

Kurt, however, accepted without hesitation. He held the food with both hands, as if he were receiving a valuable gift.

"Thank you," he said, with his usual kindness.

Without wasting time, he took a bite of the sandwich. The instant he did, his eyes widened slightly and he chewed more eagerly.

"Wow, this is really good!" he exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across his face. His tail even moved slightly in the air, an unconscious reflex of his satisfaction.

Warren felt his face warm up a little at hearing that. He hadn’t expected praise. In fact, he didn’t even know how to react to it.

His gaze quickly shifted away. He didn’t want Kurt to notice the slight flush on his cheeks, so he just pretended nothing happened. He turned his back and started fiddling with some things in the makeshift kitchen, as if he were too busy to pay attention to anything else.

"You cook really well, Warren," Kurt continued, still enjoying his food. "It’s surprising."

Warren snorted.

"I’m not your cook," he replied dryly, not looking back.

"I know, I know," Kurt laughed, taking a sip of the water. "But still, thanks for sharing your food with me."

There was a brief silence after that. Warren continued pretending to be busy, but in reality, his mind was a mess. He didn’t understand how Kurt could be so... comfortable here. After everything that had happened between them, after everything they had gone through, he should be at least cautious. But no – here he was, eating calmly, smiling, thanking like they were having a casual dinner.

It was infuriating.

But at the same time, there was something about it that made it hard for Warren to just send him away.

He wondered if he was making a mistake by allowing Kurt to stay there. Maybe it was just a matter of time before the presence of the blue mutant started messing with him in ways he didn’t want to admit.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Kurt decided to observe Warren's routine more closely. It was a simple routine, without any major complications. Warren, contrary to what Kurt had imagined, didn’t indulge in any kind of luxury or excess. He didn’t seem to care about the things most people his age probably did. There were no computers, video games, or any other kind of modern entertainment. No, Warren’s life here was solitary and rudimentary.

Kurt saw him pick up a few books that were scattered around the small area where he seemed to spend most of his time. They were old and worn books, and Kurt could almost bet Warren had read them all—probably more than once. He started to wonder what it would be like to live in a place so simple and empty, with nothing but yourself and the books that might be your only company.

While Warren sat in a corner, flipping through a thick and seemingly dense book, Kurt began to notice the details of his routine. He always stood up after a while to check the beams and the structure of the church. Like some kind of ritual, he would walk between the columns and the iron beams, hitting them hard and checking if anything was out of place. He seemed to have an obsession with keeping the church’s structure intact, as if it were the only safe shelter left in the world for him. That seemed more important than anything else.

After that, he would retreat to a corner and, for several minutes, just gaze at the horizon, not moving at all. With each breath, he remained silent, as if immersed in his own thoughts. Finally, the tiring routine of keeping the place safe would end with Warren’s occasional flights—he would beat his wings and rise into the sky—or at least to the highest parts of the church. During those moments, Kurt simply watched him, paying attention to every movement, every gesture, as if trying to understand what Warren was feeling or thinking.

It was clear that Warren didn’t enjoy Kurt’s company. It was written all over his harsh behavior and the way he responded to any attempt at conversation. Kurt tried once again to start a conversation, but Warren’s replies were always short, nearly cold, and most of the time, extremely rude. But Kurt didn’t mind. He was determined to get Warren to open up, even if just a little. Despite the obvious coldness, he wasn’t willing to give up. No matter how distant or rude Warren was, Kurt wasn’t going anywhere until he reached something.

“You always do this?” Kurt asked, watching Warren once again doing his work around the church.

Warren glanced at him quickly, a tired expression on his face, but said nothing. He grabbed another piece of metal and adjusted it with more force than necessary, as if trying to take something out on it.

Kurt didn’t give up. “What exactly are you doing? Why do you do this?” he asked again, leaning forward slightly, trying to show genuine interest.

Warren huffed, finally giving in a little under Kurt’s pressure, but still with a short answer. “It’s my responsibility. It has to be done.”

Kurt stayed there, watching, eyes fixed on Warren. He was still trying to understand what made Warren so closed off. Why couldn’t he be a little more open? What was he holding inside that kept him from sharing even a little?

“But the books? You spend so much time reading,” Kurt said, now more curious than before. “What do you find in those books?”

Warren ignored him for a moment, as if waiting for Kurt to give up, but he didn’t. Kurt didn’t know exactly why, but he felt like there was something important here—something he couldn’t let go.

“Books help pass the time,” Warren finally said, almost disinterested, though there was a hint of frustration in his voice. “They don’t make me feel alone.”

Kurt went silent for a moment. He could have said a lot of things, could’ve argued or even joked about it, but there was something in Warren’s answer that made Kurt understand that maybe that loneliness was more painful than Warren wanted to admit. He could see it in his eyes, in the way his posture changed when he spoke about being alone.

Kurt didn’t say anything. He just stayed there, watching Warren once again, with the intention of showing that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. He wanted to be there, even if Warren didn’t show the slightest interest.

At some point, just when Kurt began to feel like he was hitting a wall, he saw Warren stand up and walk toward a more secluded part of the church. As usual, he distanced himself from Kurt, not caring what the other was doing. Kurt stayed where he was, motionless, feeling a mixture of frustration and understanding. He knew Warren wouldn’t give up his solitude easily. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough to lift the weight Warren carried on his shoulders.

But Kurt was willing to keep trying. He wouldn’t leave until he got an answer—an answer he knew Warren still carried deep inside. Maybe it was just a matter of time, of waiting and being patient. But he was determined not to give up.

Kurt watched Warren attentively, trying to understand the mutant who seemed so impenetrable. He, a being with blue skin and a feline tail, who could teleport with ease and seemed so distant from everything and everyone, now saw something quietly charming in Warren—something complex that Kurt couldn’t ignore. He knew Warren cared much more than he let on, and he was determined to keep unraveling what he was hiding.

After a long moment of silence, while they both were in a corner of the church, Kurt, unable to hold back his curiosity, asked:

“What’s it like to have wings?”

Warren stopped abruptly, surprised by the question. He had never imagined anyone would be interested in something so... simple to him, so ordinary in his life. He looked at Kurt for a moment, eyes narrowing, before slowly shaking his head, as if trying to figure out whether the question was genuine or just a meaningless attempt to make conversation.

Kurt, realizing his question had caught him off guard, tried not to seem too eager, but he couldn’t hide the curiosity burning inside him. He waited for an answer—any answer. And then, unexpectedly, Warren sighed, and a slight expression of satisfaction formed on his lips.

“It’s... freeing,” he replied, almost without thinking. “Flying is the best thing in the world. There’s no better feeling than the wind slicing through your wings as you soar higher and higher.” For a brief moment, he seemed lost in his own words. Kurt could see a flicker of joy in Warren’s eyes, as if he had found something in his memories that reminded him of a good feeling—something that didn’t involve the loneliness or pain of his current life. He spoke with more ease than Kurt had ever imagined, as if simply talking about flying made him feel freer, more comfortable.

Kurt smiled softly, pleased to finally get Warren to talk about something he loved. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity to learn more about that world of wings, so different from his own. But at the same time, he also wanted to understand more about the difficulties Warren faced.

“I’ve always wondered... don’t you ever get tired of flying? Or, I don’t know, do your wings get tired after a while?” Kurt asked hesitantly. He genuinely wanted to know how it worked. It was a mix of real curiosity and a desire to connect, to understand Warren better.

Warren looked at him, a bit puzzled by the question, but to Kurt’s surprise, he shrugged. “The old wings, the ones I had before, were better for flying. They were lighter, more agile—they could slice through the air much more smoothly. I could fly for hours and not feel a thing. These,” he paused and glanced at his metal wings, “are heavy. Sometimes they make my back hurt, especially when I fly too long. It’s not the same.”

Kurt watched the distant look in Warren’s eyes as he spoke of the old wings, and something in his expression touched him deeply. Warren spoke with a kind of nostalgia—a near-painful longing—and Kurt realized that despite all his bravery, Warren mourned the loss of something that had defined him in a very personal way.

“That must be hard,” Kurt said, not wanting to sound insensitive. He knew that change in Warren’s life probably hadn’t been easy. He could see it in his eyes. “These new wings don’t help you that much, huh?”

Warren sighed—a sound almost weary—and looked away, as if trying to dodge the topic. He didn’t want to show more vulnerability, but he didn’t seem able to avoid it either. No matter how angry he seemed with everyone around him, Kurt could see beyond Warren’s hardened shell—something softer, more human.

Kurt, seeing a chance to help in some way, had an idea. He didn’t know if it would be useful or make any difference, but he wanted to offer something to Warren. He couldn’t just sit and watch.

“What if I... helped you? I mean, I’m no expert, but maybe a back massage... to ease the pain a little?”

Warren looked at him for a moment, clearly surprised by the offer. He didn’t respond right away—his eyes flicked from Kurt to his wings and then to the floor. The silence stretched between them as Kurt tried to read his reaction. He didn’t want to force anything, but he felt it might be a way to get a little closer to Warren, to perhaps ease some of the ever-present tension in his posture.

“I... don’t know,” Warren said, still a bit hesitant. He looked at Kurt, and for the first time since they met, he seemed to really consider the offer. “It’s not necessary.”

Kurt, however, didn’t give up. He knew Warren was just trying to hide behind his pride, trying to protect himself from any kind of help or intimacy. “I insist,” Kurt said, a little more firmly. “If you want, I can try. Just... try.”

There was a pause. Warren looked uncomfortable, but then—surprisingly—he gave a small nod. It wasn’t a clear “yes,” but it was enough for Kurt to take as an implied agreement. And with that, he started to approach Warren.

Kurt positioned himself behind him, trying not to be intrusive, and began applying light pressure to Warren’s back. At first, Warren seemed tense, still unsure of how to handle the situation. But as Kurt started massaging his shoulders and part of his back, he noticed Warren’s muscles gradually relaxing, his breathing becoming calmer. It was a simple moment, but somehow, it felt like a small step toward a connection between them.

Kurt, even without being an expert, was doing the best he could. He knew he wouldn’t fix Warren’s pain with just a massage, but in some way, he wanted him to know he was there, that he cared. And even though Warren seemed indifferent, Kurt believed that, somehow, it meant something. A small gesture, but to Kurt, a meaningful one.

Warren stayed silent the whole time, but the look he gave Kurt at the end was softer than either of them could have imagined. Maybe it was just a fleeting moment, but Kurt felt that, perhaps, it was the beginning of something more.

Their connection, however fragile, was slowly starting to take shape.

Chapter Text

Kurt was slowly infiltrating Warren's bubble, and that was something the blond noticed with a certain frustration, but at the same time, without the same aversion as before. In the beginning, the mere presence of the blue mutant was a constant irritation, a persistent reminder that someone was there, watching him, trying to pull him into something he didn’t want. But now, even though he still grumbled and threw sharp remarks at Kurt, he no longer told him to leave. He still maintained his tough posture and short, rude replies, but Kurt was beginning to realize that this wasn’t just resistance to his presence — it seemed to be simply the way Warren was.

The days passed in an almost monotonous way, and a routine began to settle in. Wake up, have breakfast, do something random to pass the time, talk (or try to talk, in Kurt’s case), have dinner, and finally sleep. This repetition should have been tedious, but somehow, for Kurt, it was strangely comforting. He still slept perched on the beams of the church, and it had become so familiar that his body no longer felt the initial discomfort. The high ceiling and the cool air inside the church gave him a sense of safety he hadn’t expected to find there.

Warren, on the other hand, continued his solitary life, but now with Kurt’s constant presence around him. He spent most of his time reading the same old books, which Kurt was almost certain he had memorized. The blond also dedicated hours to repairing the beams and the church’s structure, always checking if something needed fixing. When he finished, he would go out to fly, sometimes just hovering in the air, other times shooting off with speed as if he wanted to escape something. Kurt watched it all with a mix of admiration and curiosity, fascinated by how Warren seemed so at ease in the sky, but so uncomfortable on the ground.

One night, as Warren leaned back on one of the wooden pews of the church, staring up at the dark ceiling, Kurt decided to approach and sit near him. He didn’t say anything right away, just stayed there, letting the silence stretch. Warren didn’t tell him to leave, didn’t even give him an impatient look. He just kept staring upward, lost in thought.

It was a quiet moment, and Kurt realized he was becoming part of Warren’s routine in a way the other probably didn’t even notice. He was there, present, not forcing his presence, just existing beside the blond.

Time passed, and Kurt knew he couldn’t rush anything. Warren was like a wild animal that had been wounded so many times it no longer trusted anyone. He needed space, needed to feel he still had control over his own life. And Kurt respected that. He was willing to wait, to let things happen naturally.

But he also knew that, with each passing day, Warren was getting used to him. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like this new routine.

Kurt watched Warren, noticing how he always seemed tense inside the church. The space there, despite being large, was limited for someone with wings. Warren flew inside the building always with annoying caution not to hit the walls or ceiling, and most of the time, he just stayed in a low flight, unable to really let loose the way he seemed to like.

Kurt thought for a moment and then had an idea.

"Do you want to go to the nearby forest?" he asked, his voice cheerful. "Maybe that way you can fly more freely. In here it seems kind of cramped for you."

Warren stopped what he was doing and looked at him, visibly interested. Flying with more space was definitely something he wanted. In fact, it was something he’d missed ever since he started living in the church. Before, he could fly high and freely through the sky, but now he was confined to that limited space. The thought of feeling the wind hitting his face hard, of launching himself fearlessly into the air and spinning around without worrying about obstacles was very tempting.

"Fine," he said simply, not wanting to sound too excited.

Kurt smiled, satisfied with the answer, and then extended his hand to Warren, who looked at him strangely.

"What the hell are you doing?" Warren raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

"I'm going to teleport us there," Kurt explained patiently.

Warren huffed but took Kurt’s extended hand, even though he didn’t like the idea. The next second, he felt that strange sensation of displacement, like he was being pulled through a tight, dark tunnel. Suddenly, the environment around them changed completely. Now they were in the middle of a clearing in the forest. Huge trees surrounded the area, and the sky above them was clear, with nothing to stop Warren from flying as much as he wanted.

Warren staggered a bit, feeling his stomach twist. He had experienced Kurt’s teleportation before, during the fight against Apocalypse, and remembered well how unpleasant it was.

"I hate this," he muttered, trying to steady himself.

Kurt just laughed, already used to people’s reactions to his teleportation.

"You get used to it," he said, but Warren just shot him a warning look before completely ignoring him and focusing on the space around them.

The clearing was perfect for flying. There were no tall obstacles nearby, just a large open field surrounded by trees in the distance. The wind blew gently, and the sense of freedom was something Warren hadn’t felt in a long time.

Without wasting another moment, he opened his metallic wings and beat them powerfully, propelling himself upward. He climbed high, feeling the air slice against his skin as he gained altitude. For a moment, he just hovered there, letting the breeze pass through his steel feathers.

Then he moved.

Warren began flying in circles around the clearing, climbing higher and higher before diving quickly, spinning in the air and feeling adrenaline rush through his body. He did acrobatics, folding his wings to gain more speed, spreading them at the last second to glide smoothly before ascending again.

From the ground, Kurt watched with admiration. He had never really stopped to think about what it must feel like to fly like that. Sure, he teleported, but that was different. Warren looked like he belonged in the sky, as if that were his true home.

After a few minutes, Warren finally came down, landing gently on the ground. He was breathing a bit heavier, but there was a different gleam in his eyes.

"That was amazing," Kurt said, a genuine smile on his face.

Warren didn’t respond right away. He still felt the excitement from the flight, that feeling of freedom he hadn’t experienced in so long. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it made him feel good.

He looked at Kurt for a moment, and without saying anything, just gave a slight nod. It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible, but for Kurt, it meant a lot.

Kurt looked around the clearing, watching the tree leaves swaying gently in the wind. The place was calm, quiet, almost like a refuge away from the rest of the world. He always felt at peace there.

"I like this place," he said, his voice soft as he ran his hand through the grass. "I always come here when I want to be alone. It’s peaceful… nice."

Warren, who was sitting on a nearby rock, just glanced at him sideways, saying nothing. But Kurt noticed that he was listening.

There was something in the way Warren kept his eyes fixed on the ground, as if waiting for Kurt to keep talking. And he wanted to talk. In fact, he felt like he needed to talk.

So, he began.

"I grew up in a circus, you know?" His voice had a nostalgic tone, but at the same time carried a weight that Warren didn’t miss. "Until I was seven, I was a skilled acrobat. People adored me. They thought my appearance was part of the show… The Great Nightcrawler." He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "It was fun, you know? Jumping through hoops, doing flips in the air, hearing the audience’s applause… I loved it."

Warren remained silent, but his eyes were now fixed on Kurt.

"But then…" Kurt’s tone dropped, less cheerful. "The circus got a new owner. And suddenly, I wasn’t the Great Nightcrawler anymore. I was… downgraded." He laughed without humor, looking at his hands. "They put me in the freak show, locked me in a cage so people could observe me up close, treat me like some kind of aberration."

Warren frowned slightly but didn’t interrupt.

"For years, I stayed there, being displayed like a monster. I had to endure the looks of disgust, the laughter, people throwing things at me, like I wasn’t even human." He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "And then… they sold me."

Kurt raised his eyes, looking directly at Warren.

"That’s how I ended up in the ring," he explained. "The same place where I met you."

Silence hung between the two for a long moment. The sound of the wind blowing through the trees and the rustling of the leaves was the only thing filling the space between them.

Warren didn’t know what to say. He knew Kurt had come to that damn ring, but he had never wondered how. And now, hearing this story, something inside him twisted.

He didn’t like the thought of Kurt being treated that way.

He didn’t like the thought of anyone being treated that way.

For a moment, Warren looked away, staring at his own hand, feeling an uncomfortable sensation in his chest. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing.

"That explains a lot," he finally said, his voice rougher than usual.

Kurt shrugged, as if he was already used to his own story, as if he had told it to himself so many times that it was now just another fact about his life. But Warren knew that wasn’t true. He knew it hurt.

And for the first time, he felt a strange impulse.

Maybe it was the way Kurt talked about the circus, about how he loved flying through the hoops. Maybe it was the fact that, even after everything, Kurt could still smile.

But for the first time, Warren wanted to say something that wasn’t rude.

He wanted to say he understood.

But the words didn’t come.

So instead, he just sat there, on the rock, listening to the wind pass by, while next to him, Kurt remained staring at the sky, lost in thought.

Kurt took a deep breath, letting his gaze wander across the clear sky above the clearing. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders after telling his story, but he wasn’t done yet.

“After all that, I found the school for the gifted,” he continued, his voice a little more animated. “A school for mutants.”

Warren said nothing, but Kurt noticed he was listening closely.

“It was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Kurt gave a small smile. “I finally found a place where I felt... normal. Where no one looked at me like I was a monster, where no one treated me like a freak.” He let out a low chuckle. “Of course, I didn’t expect to fight a superpowered guy on my first day, but...” He raised his arms and looked at Warren. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Warren scoffed, crossing his arms.

Kurt laughed.

“But the school is amazing. Professor Xavier takes care of all of us. He teaches us to control our powers, gives us a home.” He looked at Warren. “The mansion is huge. It has classrooms, dorms, labs, even a big hall for training. And the other mutants... they’re like a family.”

Family.

The word echoed uncomfortably in Warren’s mind.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had a family. In fact, he didn’t even like to think about it.

But as Kurt spoke, he found himself imagining what it would be like.

What it would be like to live in a place where he didn’t have to worry about the next hit? Where he could just exist without having to fight all the time?

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away.

That wasn’t for him.

He knew that.

But still, a part of him... just a small part... wondered what it would be like if he accepted it.

If he went there.

If he had a place to call home again.

Kurt kept talking, now telling him about some of the other students at the school. He mentioned Jean, who had insane psychic powers, Scott, who shot beams from his eyes. He spoke about each one with affection, with a sparkle in his eyes.

And Warren realized that, despite everything Kurt had been through, despite all the suffering he had endured, he still managed to see the bright side of things.

It was annoying.

But somehow... admirable.

Warren remained silent, just listening.

Chapter Text

Kurt was determined. He wasn’t going to give up on Warren so easily. In the past few days, something had changed. The connection between them was stronger, almost tangible. Even though Warren still showed constant resistance, Kurt could see the small opening, the crack in the shield Warren kept so tightly around himself. Kurt felt there was something more there, a part of him that still wanted more than just to live in the shadows of the church, away from everyone. Maybe, just maybe, he could show Warren that there was something beyond what he believed to be his only reality.

He already knew the school was Warren’s best chance for change. It wasn’t just about learning to control his powers or fighting alongside other mutants. It was about finding a place where Warren could finally feel like he belonged, where he wasn’t just a weapon, where his wings, his abilities, weren’t seen only as instruments of destruction.

Kurt took a deep breath, watching Warren, who was, as always, trying to fix one of the fallen beams. The sound of hammering and metal being adjusted echoed through the church, and Kurt approached, his steps hesitant but steady.

“Warren,” Kurt began, his voice calm but full of purpose. “I know you don’t believe the school is the answer, but…”

Warren lifted his head and looked at him with a suspicious gaze, but Kurt didn’t hesitate.

“I’ve been through a lot, you know that. I’m not that circus acrobat anymore, or that boy who was treated like a freak. I found something at the school. A home. People who accept me as I am, without judgment, without fear.” Kurt took a step closer, trying to close the distance between him and Warren. “I know you deserve that too.”

Warren let out a low grunt but still remained silent, as if waiting for Kurt to go on. Kurt knew he was listening, but he didn’t want to lose the moment.

“Look,” Kurt continued, “I know you have your own demons, your own battles to fight. I know you think you can stay here, alone, live your way. But Warren, living in isolation… that’s not going to make you happy. I’ve tried. I’ve been there, in the same position as you. I know what it’s like to feel like no one will understand, that you’re too different to ever fit in.”

Kurt looked at Warren’s wings, which shimmered under the soft light coming through the broken windows. “These wings, they’re not a curse, Warren. They can be whatever you want them to be. They don’t define who you are. No matter what’s happened, no matter the mistakes of the past. You have the power to change, to choose your own path.”

Kurt paused, feeling the weight of his words. He wanted Warren to know that he wasn’t just offering him a way out. He was offering the possibility of something better, something Kurt knew Warren deserved.

Warren looked at him with a piercing, almost defiant stare. He stayed quiet for a long moment, and Kurt almost thought maybe everything he’d said was in vain. But then, to Kurt’s surprise, Warren spoke, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

“I don’t need anyone, Kurt. I… I’m not made for that kind of life. That school, those people, they’ll see me for what I am. They’ll hate me.”

Kurt didn’t let Warren’s defeated tone affect him. He knew that, no matter how much Warren tried to convince himself otherwise, a part of him still wanted to be seen, still wanted to be accepted. Kurt took another step forward, his gaze sincere and soft.

“You don’t understand,” Kurt said, “but they won’t hate you. I won’t hate you. We, all of us there, we’ll accept you. Not for what you are, but for what you can be. You can be whoever you want, Warren. You just have to give yourself a chance.”

Warren looked at him, his eyes hard, but something inside him, something deep, seemed to falter. He was at war with himself, fighting against everything he had always believed, against the idea that he could never be worthy of a better life, of a future where he wasn’t just a weapon of war. But maybe, deep down, he knew Kurt was right.

Kurt, seeing that Warren was still silent, decided to continue, trying once more. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I can promise you one thing: you won’t have to fight alone anymore.”

Warren’s eyes shimmered, but he didn’t respond right away. Kurt knew that more than anything, Warren needed to believe he could open himself to what lay ahead. To a different future, a future where he could be more than his pain and scars.

As much as Warren wanted to resist, Kurt knew the icy barrier was beginning to melt. He was almost there. And despite everything, Kurt believed that, deep down, Warren wanted the same. He wanted the chance to be more than a monster.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise you that.” Kurt spoke softly, as he extended a hand toward Warren. His smile was wide, a smile that reflected confidence and a sincere promise, as if he truly believed in what he was saying, as if he were willing to do anything to help Warren find his own path.

Warren, however, wasn’t prepared for that. What Kurt was offering was more than just simple words; it was something that stirred him in a way he didn’t know how to handle. He felt his heart beat faster, as if Kurt’s promise had touched a part of him that had been dormant for a long time. His eyes locked with Kurt’s for a moment, but quickly shifted to his lips, as if looking directly into Kurt’s eyes was too much to bear.

Kurt’s smile, which had seemed so natural and welcoming before, now felt like it was pressuring Warren in a strange way. The space around them, which had felt light and casual until then, suddenly became heavy, as if the world had stopped and left just the two of them there, trapped in that small pocket of silence and tension.

Kurt, lost in his own thoughts, didn’t notice Warren’s intense gaze. He was completely unaware of what was happening, only feeling the growing connection between them. But when his eyes met Warren’s, the atmosphere around them seemed to shift. Kurt’s smile faded slightly, and he swallowed hard, as if he had suddenly become aware of something he hadn’t noticed before. What was he supposed to do now? How should he act? He didn’t want his promise to feel forced or make Warren feel pressured into something he wasn’t ready to accept, but at the same time, he didn’t want to hold back from showing how much he cared.

Warren, on the other hand, was in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His gaze shifted from Kurt’s, as if it were impossible to keep looking at him. He felt a knot in his throat, a mix of insecurity and something deeper, something he didn’t want to face. Warren, who had always kept his distance and cynicism, found himself in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t know how to react to this vulnerability in Kurt. And the part of him that was beginning to open up, even if slowly, became even more confused.

“I’ll think about it, but don’t get on my nerves,” Warren said, his voice rougher than Kurt was used to hearing. He didn’t seem angry, but Kurt could tell there was something more in Warren’s tone, something he didn’t yet know how to interpret. And, for a brief moment, Kurt noticed Warren’s cheek had taken on a faint pink hue, almost imperceptible, but enough to make his heart beat a little faster. It wasn’t a big thing, but for Kurt, who had already been paying more attention to Warren than he liked to admit, it was a sign. What was that? What was happening here?

Kurt was torn. On one hand, there was the feeling that Warren was, somehow, drawing closer. But on the other hand, he felt Warren was still closed off, like a locked door for which he didn’t yet have the key. But his reaction, even if blunt and direct, still meant something. He wasn’t pushing Kurt away completely, and that, somehow, was a small step forward. A step that, even if small, made Kurt feel closer to Warren than ever. But what did that mean? Was Warren starting to realize what Kurt was already beginning to understand, or was it just an illusion? A mind game created by himself?

Kurt, somehow, felt he was diving deeper than he had imagined. He could see it in Warren’s expressions, in the small gestures and even in the harsh words—there was confusion, an internal struggle. And it made Kurt wonder if he wasn’t just as lost as Warren. Was he also beginning to lose himself in this connection? He, who had always been so self-contained, now found himself in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings he didn’t know how to control.

The tension between them hung in the air, but Kurt, always with his lighter approach, tried to break the ice a little.

“That’s already a start,” he said, with a soft smile, trying to ease the pressure that hovered between the two of them. He wanted to give Warren space, but he also didn’t want to let the opportunity slip away. He wanted to take that step, but he also wanted Warren to be ready to take the same step—and, more importantly, he wanted to make sure that step wasn’t forced.

Chapter Text

Kurt was deep in thought. It was late at night, probably around 1 a.m. He was lying on the beam, as usual, but this time he couldn't sleep. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the abandoned church, but his mind was miles away. His thoughts were racing uncontrollably, always coming back to what happened earlier, or rather, to what might happen.

Did Warren really intend to kiss him?

Kurt swallowed hard just thinking about it. It was a strange idea, unexpected, but at the same time, impossible to ignore. His heart would race every time his mind replayed that moment. Warren's gaze on his lips, the way he seemed to lean in for a second before pulling back. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? No, he was sure he hadn’t. But then why did Warren pull back? Had he realized what he was doing and stepped back? Or did he simply not want to?

Kurt felt his face heat up. He had never thought of Warren in that way before. Sure, he knew Warren was attractive—he would be lying if he said otherwise—but he had never really considered the possibility of something between them. Warren had always been rough, rude, someone who seemed like he didn't want anyone around. But now, with this little detail, this possibility that formed for a second and then vanished… Kurt couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He had never kissed anyone. He had never even had anyone interested in him like that. He was used to strange looks, people avoiding him, whispers about his appearance. No one seemed willing to kiss a blue guy with a demon look. He had accepted that a long time ago.

But Warren… Warren had looked at him. And for a moment, it seemed like he really considered the idea.

Kurt sighed heavily, covering his face with his hands. His stomach twisted just thinking about it. He didn’t know if it was nervousness or something else. But either way, he knew this night was going to be long. Very long.

Maybe he should talk to Warren about it?

The idea crossed his mind for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. No, he didn’t want to bother Warren with it at this hour. Or maybe at no hour. The blond would definitely get mad if he brought this up out of nowhere. And besides… what would he say?

"Hey, Warren, you almost kissed me today?"

Just imagining those words coming out of his mouth made Kurt’s face heat up even more. He shifted on the beam, his tail swaying in the air as he tried to find a more comfortable position. He needed to stop thinking about it. He needed to forget and sleep. But the more he tried to push the thoughts away, the more they came back.

He wondered what it would have been like if Warren had actually done it. If he had allowed it. What would it feel like? Would it be weird? Or… would it be nice? Kurt had no reference. He had never kissed anyone, never even held someone’s hand in a romantic way. His only knowledge came from books and movies, and that felt very different from something real.

And if Warren had kissed him, what would happen next? Would they pretend nothing happened? Would Warren say it was a mistake? Or worse… would he pull away completely?

The last thought made discomfort rise in Kurt’s chest. He didn’t want that to happen. Warren could be rough, irritated, and even a bit unbearable sometimes, but Kurt had gotten used to him. He liked having him around. He liked talking to him, even if his answers were short and rude. He liked watching him fly, how focused he got reading those old books. He liked knowing that, even without admitting it, Warren already saw him as someone close.

And if all of that disappeared because of a single moment?

He let out a heavy sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. He was thinking too much. If he kept this up, he wouldn’t sleep at all. He needed to ignore these thoughts for now.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Warren's voice sounded unexpectedly just below the beam where Kurt was lying. He hadn’t expected the blond to still be awake, let alone paying attention to him.

Kurt jumped at the sudden sound, and in a clumsy movement, lost his balance. His tail twisted in the air, trying to grab onto something, but it was too late. He felt gravity pulling him down quickly, and before he could even think about teleporting, he was already falling.

But before he hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught him.

Warren.

The fall was abruptly stopped when Kurt felt the impact against the blond’s chest. Warren’s wings opened slightly to steady himself, and for a moment, everything was silent.

"Careful, you idiot!" Warren growled, holding Kurt firmly.

It was only at that moment that Kurt truly realized what was happening.

He was in Warren's arms.

Warren was holding him.

Tightly.

Kurt’s face instantly heated up.

He could feel the temperature of the blond’s body against his. The firm grip around his waist, the muscular arms supporting his weight effortlessly. The closeness between them was something he wasn’t used to. Warren’s scent – something slightly woody mixed with the dust from the church – filled his nostrils, and his heart beat faster.

He felt a shiver run down his spine.

His eyes met Warren’s for a brief moment, and Kurt realized the blond had also noticed the situation. His furrowed brow softened for a second, as if now realizing how close they were.

The silence between them grew heavy.

Kurt tried to swallow, but his throat seemed to be stuck. He needed to get out of there. He needed to pull away, or he was going to go crazy with his own thoughts.

But his muscles wouldn’t move.

He was still there, in Warren’s arms. Trembling slightly, unsure of what to do.

"S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up."

Kurt quickly looked away, his voice hesitant, filled with nervousness. He tried to compose himself, but the closeness between them was making everything harder than it should have been.

As he tried to push himself out of Warren’s arms, his hand accidentally touched the blond’s chest.

And that’s when he realized.

The mistake.

The regret was instantaneous.

Warren’s muscles were firm under the palm of his hand, warm and defined in a way Kurt had never noticed before. He could feel the contour of the blond’s chest, the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath his skin, and a shiver ran through his body.

He wanted to pull his hand away immediately, but his brain seemed to have short-circuited.

"I got up to get some water, you didn’t wake me."

Warren’s voice cut through the silence, bringing Kurt back to reality.

He blinked a few times, still dazed, before finally regaining his senses and quickly pulling his hand away, as if he had just touched fire.

"Ah, right…"

He tried to laugh, but it came out more as a strange sound, something between a nervous laugh and a choke.

Warren didn’t seem the least bit affected by the situation, which only made Kurt feel even more embarrassed. The blond simply held him with the same firmness as before, showing no sign of rushing to let him go.

The silence between them lingered, creating an unexpected tension in the air.

Kurt felt his tail involuntarily wrap around Warren’s leg, an unconscious habit when he got anxious. As soon as he realized what he had done, his eyes widened, and he tried to undo the movement, but it was too late.

Warren looked at him with an arched eyebrow, saying nothing.

Shame took over Kurt in a way he had never felt before.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

If he stayed for one more second in Warren’s arms, feeling the firmness of his body against his, the warmth of his breath, and the distinct scent of the blond so close, he was going to explode from nervousness.

Gathering what little dignity he had left, Kurt teleported away, reappearing several meters away, panting.

He turned to Warren, who was still standing in the same place, looking at him with an expression that was hard to decipher.

Kurt quickly looked away, his face burning.

He needed time to process all of this.

"You don’t look so good."

Warren’s voice cut through the silence between them, carrying that casual tone, but at the same time, sharp.

Kurt swallowed hard.

There was no way Warren was this oblivious to the atmosphere that had formed between them.

After everything that happened—after he had fallen right into the blond’s arms, after the accidental touch on his chest, after the suffocating tension that hung between them—did Warren really not notice?

Or worse… did he notice and was just enjoying Kurt’s nervousness?

Kurt looked away, feeling his tail twitch behind him. He didn’t know what to do now. Should he say something? Do something? Ignore everything and pretend nothing happened?

"I-I’m fine, I—"

The words died in his throat as he felt Warren’s hand touch his forehead.

The touch was unexpected.

Cold and firm.

Kurt froze completely, his brain processing in slow motion what was happening.

Warren’s fingers gently pressed against his skin, sliding from his forehead to the side of his face in a nearly absent gesture, as if checking something with ease.

"It’s not hot."

The blond murmured simply, his eyes examining Kurt closely.

But Kurt wasn’t listening anymore.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest, feel the warmth rising on his blue skin, feel every detail of Warren’s touch—the thumb lightly brushing against his temple, the index finger resting beside his eye.

"But it’s red."

The realization made Kurt blink several times, trying to regain focus.

He quickly looked away, feeling his face burn even more.

"It's... it's just your imagination!"

The answer came out rushed, nervous. He felt like his whole body was overreacting to the blond's simple touch. But how could he not react?

Warren didn’t seem to mind the closeness between them. He kept his hand there for a few more seconds before finally pulling back, leaving Kurt with the phantom sensation of the touch.

An awkward silence settled in.

Kurt then looked straight at Warren.

And at that very moment, he regretted it.

He shouldn’t have done that.

Because, even though Warren seemed oblivious to the tension hanging between them, his gaze was still piercing. An intense, sharp gaze, like he could see right through Kurt.

And it stirred something in him he couldn’t explain.

Kurt swallowed hard, feeling a strange chill run up his spine.

It was like he was trapped in that moment, unable to look away.

And then, without realizing it, his eyes slid down to Warren’s lips.

He didn’t even think about it. It was a reflex, an involuntary movement.

Warren’s lips were...

Well, they were just lips.

But for some reason, in that instant, they seemed a lot more interesting than they should’ve been.

The shape, the outline, the way they were slightly parted, like Warren was about to say something but changed his mind at the last second.

Kurt felt himself swallowing hard again.

His heart pounded.

And then, before he could realize what he was doing...

He began to lean forward.

It was a subtle movement, almost imperceptible.

But it happened.

His body acted before his mind could process it.

The distance between them shrank.

Centimeters. Millimeters.

The air grew thick.

Kurt’s breath was caught in his throat, but he couldn’t pull back.

It was like something was pulling him closer, like he was being drawn by an invisible and uncontrollable force.

And he didn’t know what he’d do when he finally got there.

Chapter Text

Kurt didn’t think.
He just acted.

His eyes were fixed on Warren’s lips, his body trembling, his heart seemed ready to leap from his chest. And then, as if the universe had silenced itself for a full second, as if time had stopped to watch… he pressed his lips against his.

It was light, hesitant, even a bit clumsy at first. Kurt didn’t even know exactly what he was doing — his eyes closed in surprise at his own boldness, and his hands clung to Warren’s shoulders as if the world was spinning too fast.

But then it happened.

A warm, overwhelming euphoria took over Kurt completely.
It was like a silent explosion inside his chest — a feeling he’d never had before, something new, electrifying.

The kiss wasn’t perfect — far from it.
It was awkward, inexperienced, shy. But it was also sincere. So genuine that it made his heart ache.

And the most unexpected thing of all?

Warren kissed back.

At first, he seemed frozen, as if processing everything. As if trying to understand why he was allowing this to happen. Why he was letting this pure, kind, blue-haired boy touch him this way, break through his barriers.

But then his eyes closed, and he gently tilted his face, deepening the kiss, letting his own uncertainty drown in the feeling building between them.

Warren’s hand gripped Kurt’s waist firmly.

It wasn’t an aggressive move, but it wasn’t completely gentle either — it was intense. Like he was also struggling with something inside him, like he wanted to but couldn’t. Like he desired more than he should.

And Kurt… he felt it all.
He felt the touch, he felt the heat, he felt the conflict.

But above all, he felt the pleasure of the moment, of discovery.

He had never kissed anyone. Never.
And now here he was, in the middle of the night, in the arms of an angel with a broken soul, kissing as if his life had just begun.

It was short. It was long. It was eternal.

Kurt pulled away slowly, eyes still closed for a second, his face flushed, his breath uneven.

Warren didn’t say anything either.

The silence between them was heavy… but not uncomfortable.

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, meeting Warren’s, which still seemed too intense, as if they were boiling from within, as if something was about to break.

“Sorry,” Kurt murmured quietly, almost out of breath.

“No…” Warren replied, his voice hoarse and low. “You don’t have to apologize.”

But even saying that, there was hesitation on his face.
Warren stood up slowly, as if trying to escape his own mind, the intensity of the moment.

“I… I need to think.” He murmured, looking away.

Kurt nodded, understanding.
He didn’t want to force anything.

But…
Inside him, something had changed.

And as much as doubts still lingered — about what they were, about what that kiss meant, about tomorrow — at that moment, for the first time, Kurt felt like he had touched something deeper in Warren.

And maybe, just maybe…
Warren had allowed him to get a little closer to that wall that always surrounded him.

But above all, Kurt wondered what they would do now.

His fingertips were still trembling, his lips tingling from the recent touch, his heart out of rhythm as if he had just run miles nonstop. Reality slowly returned, like fog dissipating at dawn, and with it, a flood of thoughts he barely knew how to organize.

What were they now? Did that mean anything?

Warren had kissed back. That was a fact.
He didn’t push him away, didn’t shove him, didn’t insult him. He held him. He kissed him back.

But then he pulled away. Said he needed to think.
And he left.

Kurt sat slowly on the floor of the room, crossing his arms over his bent knees, his tail wrapped around his body like an extension of his confusion. The room now seemed colder, quieter. Warren’s absence echoed louder than any word spoken.

A part of him wanted to go after him, ask, understand.
Another part wanted to respect Warren’s space — the boy who carried scars inside and out, who had learned to survive by pushing the world away.

Kurt closed his eyes.

Maybe Warren was scared. Maybe he was regretting it.
Or maybe... he was as lost as Kurt.

It was strange to think about — how he, someone so used to feeling strange, weird, different, could have provoked that kind of reaction in someone like Warren. Someone so strong, so lonely, so wrapped in shadows.

But he had provoked it.
That much he knew.

Now, all that was left was to wait.

Wait to see if Warren would come back.
Wait to see if that kiss was a mistake or the beginning of something new.

And despite the anxiety gnawing at his chest, Kurt didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

Because, for the first time, he had let go of the fear.

And had allowed himself to feel.

----(⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)----

The silence of the early morning gave way to the first timid sounds of dawn. From one of the broken windows of the old church, Warren sat, elbows resting on his knees, his wings folded against his back. The sky was beginning to brighten, painted in soft shades of blue and gold, a striking contrast to what he felt inside.

This was the part of the day he hated the most. Because the sunrise meant he had survived another night. And lately, that felt more like punishment than relief.

But this time… there was something different. Or rather, someone.

He thought about Kurt’s touch.

His voice.

The way his body trembled when their lips met.

Warren squeezed his eyes shut tightly, as if trying to erase the memory, but it was useless. The kiss was still imprinted on his skin, burning like an echo that couldn’t be ignored.

He ran his hand over his face, fingers stopping at his mouth.

“Kurt,” he murmured to the wind.

The other boy’s name sounded too light in his hoarse voice. Almost breaking something inside him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

Kurt was too good. He was... pure.

And Warren?

He was a discarded weapon. A body with steel wings, a walking mistake. He had done too much. He had stopped being human long before meeting Kurt. So why the hell had he allowed that kiss?

Because, for a moment, he wanted to believe there was something inside him that could still feel. Something still worthy of being touched with tenderness. Something that wasn’t made entirely of pain and anger.

But Kurt didn’t know everything. He didn’t know his ugly parts.

And if he did, would he still look at him the same way?

Warren took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away. Outside, the sun was already shining on the tops of the trees, and the first birds were singing through the leaves. He felt the morning breeze against his face and realized he hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Calm. At peace. Almost... hopeful.

But he also knew this was fragile.
As fragile as the boy who had said, “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

— You don’t know what you’re getting into, Kurt — he said quietly, as if the other could hear him from here, even while asleep.

He rested his head against the cold wall and closed his eyes again, allowing himself a few more minutes in that limbo of golden light and regret.

Because, deep down, he couldn’t decide if that kiss had been a mistake… or the first right thing he had done in years.

----(⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)----

The sun was already shining brightly through the cracks of the old church when Kurt quietly got up from the beam. His thoughts were still spinning around the previous night — the kiss, Warren’s eyes, the confusion, the euphoria. But now there was something else… a quiet determination in his chest.

He knew Warren was at war with himself. Kurt could see it in his eyes, in the way he spoke, in the way he held him with his gaze. And because of that, this morning, he wanted to do something simple. Something that said: “You matter. You deserve care.”

In the small improvised kitchen of the church, Kurt moved carefully so as not to make noise. He wasn’t exactly a chef yet, but he remembered well how Jean had taught him to make pancakes at school. “Follow the recipe, but add some love. It works,” she used to say. So he followed it to the letter... and added a lot of love.

He carefully separated the ingredients. Flour, eggs, milk... He found an old frying pan that still worked and lit the small portable stove they had arranged. As he stirred the batter, he hummed softly in German, something his mother used to sing when he was little.

He made pancakes with fruit. Warren seemed to like simple things, so he added cut strawberries and a bit of honey on top. He also made some not-too-strong coffee and grabbed two glasses of juice he had stored in the little gas fridge they used.

He set everything up on a box covered with a clean cloth, improvising a small table beside where Warren usually sat during the day. He placed both plates, arranged the silverware, and, unable to hide his smile, went to call the blonde.

He climbed the stairs quietly and stopped when he saw him still at the same window, looking at the sky, absorbed. His messy hair reflected the golden sunlight, and his half-open wings looked like a living painting.

“Good morning, Warren,” Kurt said softly, trying not to startle him. “Hmm… I… made something for you. I thought you deserved to start your day with something good.”

Warren turned, visibly surprised. He blinked a few times, as if trying to wake up from a dream.

“Breakfast?”

Kurt nodded, shrugging slightly with an embarrassed smile.

“With pancakes. And strawberries. I... tried to make it nice.”

Warren stared at him for a long moment. He didn’t say anything immediately, but his gaze softened. There was something in Kurt’s gesture that broke through all the defenses he had built. And for the first time in days, he stood up without grumbling or avoiding him.

They sat together on the floor, in front of the small “table.” Warren took the fork carefully, as if the moment was too fragile to be broken.

“This is... too good for me,” he murmured, almost without looking at Kurt.

“Don’t say that,” the other responded firmly. “You deserve this. And much more.”

Warren didn’t answer. But when he took the first bite of pancake and looked at Kurt for a moment... there was a shine there. A shine that said maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe.

Chapter Text

They were once again in the clearing. The same one that had been the stage for so many silent conversations, exchanged glances, and unspoken promises. The sun filtered through the tall leaves, casting dancing shadows over the ground covered in foliage and twigs. The gentle breeze made the grass sway in lazy movements, cradling that moment almost untouched by time.

Kurt was sitting on a moss-covered stone, legs crossed, tail resting beside his body. He watched Warren in the sky, as he always did when they came here. Something about watching Warren fly made him feel light, as if he could float along. There was something incredibly graceful about the way the wings moved, even with the sound of metal that occasionally emerged when Warren changed direction abruptly. It was almost like the distant hum of a sword being unsheathed.

Yet still, there was poetry in that sound. There was beauty in the strength contained in the muscles that sustained those wings — the power, the freedom, and yet, the burden of what they represented.

Two days had passed since the kiss. Two long days in which neither had brought it up. Not because they didn’t want to, but because words seemed far too fragile next to the intensity of the moment they shared. Kurt tried to convince himself it was just caution, but the truth was something else: fear.

He was afraid. Afraid that if he spoke about it, Warren would say it had been a mistake. That he regretted it. That it had only happened on impulse. And, most painfully, that he never would have done it if Kurt weren’t… who he was. Or rather, what he was. Even if Warren had never said or shown signs of caring about his appearance, Kurt knew how the world saw him — as a monster. And sometimes, on the darkest days, he believed it too.

That’s why he stayed silent. That’s why he kept everything inside. Buried deep the desire to understand, to clarify, to grow closer. Because he preferred silence over rejection.

But on the other side of that clearing, in the blue skies dotted with lazy clouds, Warren also carried the weight of his own fears. He saw Kurt watching him, and even from afar, he could feel the warmth of that gaze, the care. And it made him feel smaller than ever.

How could he be worthy of someone like Kurt? After everything he’d done? After being Apocalypse’s pawn, a symbol of fear and destruction? The mark of it all was still inside him — in the dreams, in the memories, in the looks others avoided. How could he touch someone so pure, so full of hope?

Warren landed near Kurt with a light impact that sent dry leaves flying. They said nothing. Warren wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm and sat on the grass beside Kurt. Not too close, but close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

The silence between them was dense, but not uncomfortable. Something was being said even without words. Kurt looked at his own hands, fingers nervously intertwining, and thought about speaking. But the lump in his throat grew thicker with every attempt.

Warren was thinking too. He wanted to say he remembered every second of the kiss. The heat, the surprise, the rush. He wanted to say that his mind returned to that moment every time he closed his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t regret it. That maybe, deep down, he had been waiting for it far longer than he could admit.

But no words came.

Only the breeze. Only the distant call of a bird. Only the sun slowly descending in the sky.

And yet, even without addressing it, even without promises or confessions, there was something there. A presence. A connection. Something growing in silence, delicately. Something that maybe — just maybe — didn’t need to be rushed.

Then he spoke, his voice low and a little hesitant, but full of sweetness:

“When I was little, in Germany, there was a tree near the river… a huge cherry tree. It would bloom at the end of March. The village kids said whoever climbed the highest branch would have a wish granted. I never made it up there, of course… but I always made a wish anyway.”

He gave a small smile, shy but genuine. His eyes were still on his hands, but he stole quick glances toward Warren, trying to read any reaction.

“It was a peaceful time, before I… was discovered. Before people looked at me with fear. I remember that spring, I wished for wings. I wanted to fly. I thought flying meant freedom. To go wherever I wanted, to be untouchable…”

The pause was long, almost melancholic.

“Funny, isn’t it? And now… I know someone who really has wings. And who, even being able to fly, seems to carry so much weight.”

Silence returned for a moment, but now it was different. Charged with something deeper — something more intimate.

Warren didn’t respond right away. He kept staring ahead, jaw tight, fists clenched on his knees. It touched him. More than he wanted to admit.

Kurt didn’t expect an answer. Not in that moment. He just wanted to share something. A fragment of light amid the fog that seemed to surround them. He then looked back at the sky through the branches and let himself drift into the memory, imagining the scent of cherry blossoms, even if so far away now. Maybe, in some way, he was offering that memory as a bridge — something to connect them beyond the silence, beyond the unspoken kiss, beyond the fears that consumed them.

His fingers intertwined in a nervous tic, and his tail lightly tapped the grass like a pendulum without direction. The silence between them was no longer peaceful — it was thick, uncomfortable, and increasingly unbearable for Kurt. He took a deep breath once, twice, three times. His voice wanted to escape his throat, but he had no courage.

But then, unable to hold it in any longer, he blurted out, rushed, stumbling over his own words:

“I... I wanted to talk... about, um... what happened, you know? I-I don’t know if you want to, or if it’s awkward, or if… if it was an accident, or an impulse, or if you want to pretend it never happened, w-which is okay too, but I… it was my first kiss and a-and I don’t know, it was important to me, even if it was weird and clumsy and–”

He stopped suddenly, feeling his face heat up like never before. The silence that followed was deafening, as if the world had held its breath with him. Kurt didn’t dare look at Warren. He was sure he had said too much. That he had ruined everything. His heart pounded in his chest, almost painfully.

And then, finally, Warren spoke.

“I liked the kiss.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. He looked at him quickly, heart racing, only to see Warren’s serious face — not distant, just... restrained.

“But it can’t happen again.”

Those words hit Kurt like a bucket of cold water. He felt his tail droop behind him and lowered his gaze, trying to hide the sudden pain.

“Oh… I understand,” he murmured, voice now lower, trembling. “I’m not… I’m not mad if you think that way about my appearance. I understand it might be strange, or scary, or not exactly… attractive. I know how people look at me…”

“What?”

Warren’s reply came firm, almost indignant, and Kurt finally looked at him.

“I never said there was anything wrong with your appearance.”

Kurt blinked, confused.

“In fact,” Warren continued, “in my opinion… you’re pretty damn sexy.”

Kurt froze. Literally. His face went completely red, his pointed ears burned, and his tail, by pure reflex, wrapped around his own leg. He looked away, clearly not knowing where to hide his face. His hands trembled slightly, and the shy smile that escaped his lips was almost imperceptible.

“So… why can’t it happen again?” he asked in a tiny voice, shy but full of disguised courage. It was an honest question. He didn’t understand — if Warren reciprocated, if he thought he was attractive, then why?

Warren took a while to answer. His eyes dropped to the ground for a moment, then to his own hands. He looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, hoarse:

“Because I’m not worthy of your affection, Kurt. Or your love.”

Kurt furrowed his brow, surprised, and took a timid step forward, but Warren didn’t look at him. He continued:

“After everything I did… after what I became with Apocalypse, with these damned metal wings… I destroyed things, hurt people. I chose to be a monster. And even if I’ve lost all that now, it’s still inside me. I’m not like you. You are… you are light, Kurt. You are hope. You are someone good. I don’t deserve that.”

Kurt felt his heart tighten. It was painful to hear — not just because of the rejection, but because of how Warren saw himself. He wanted to say something, anything, but was still trying to process it all.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer. Gently touched Warren’s shoulder with his fingertips and said, very softly:

“You deserve more than you believe. And I’m not perfect, Warren. I’ve had dark moments too. But even if you think you’re not worthy… I can decide for myself who deserves my affection.”

Warren finally looked up. And for a moment, there was something there — something broken, fragile, but at the same time hopeful. As if those words had managed, even if just a little, to break through the walls he had built around himself.

“…You really want to know how I feel?”

He didn’t expect an immediate answer. But he took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and spoke as if he were hearing himself for the first time too:

“I feel… torn. Like there’s something inside me constantly fighting against this. Not because of you… but because of me. Because I’m still scared. Scared of hurting you, of letting you down. Of not being able to give something good back in return for what you’re offering me.”

Warren’s eyes softened as they met Kurt’s again.

“But… at the same time, part of me wants to run to you. Wants to stay close. Wants to… believe.”

He smiled — small, a little painful.

“I just don’t know if I’m brave enough.”

Kurt stayed silent for a moment after hearing Warren’s words. His heart was pounding, the nervousness still there, but there was also a warm feeling spreading inside him, like a spark had finally found space to become a flame.

He looked deep into Warren’s eyes, tenderness and courage in his gaze, even though his fingers were nervously intertwined over his knees. Then, with a soft but steady voice, he said:

“I… I’m ready to take the risk, Warren. Even if it’s hard, even if we stumble, even if it takes time… I want to try. I want this with you. The question is… are you ready too?”

Warren stared at him for a while. There was no immediate answer — just that silence heavy with tension and meaning. His eyes were full of thoughts, inner battles, old memories, scars that still ached. But there was something new there too: a gentle glow, a silent surrender. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, and his lips curved into a small smile — the rare kind of smile that held more than words could say.

“Yes,” he said, in a low but resolute tone. “I’m ready.”

Kurt felt something burst inside him, as if all the anxiety and fear had, for a moment, vanished. His eyes lit up, and he stood up quickly, excited. His tail swayed gently behind him as he stepped closer to Warren and, with a wide smile, asked:

“So… do you want to go to school with me now?”

Warren glanced away a little, laughing nervously, and replied:

“I do.”

“Wanna grab anything to take with you?” Kurt asked, already extending his hand.

Warren looked at the clearing one last time, at the treetops swaying in the wind, at the place that, for a brief time, had been his refuge. But his eyes soon returned to Kurt, and his answer came simply, but filled with everything he felt:

“Everything I need is right here.”

He meant Kurt — and the blue on the other mutant’s face deepened slightly, blushing. Kurt smiled shyly, his eyes brimming with a sweetness too big to put into words. Then he gently squeezed Warren’s hand.

And in an instant, with a soft, magical sound — BAMF — the two vanished from the clearing, leaving behind only the scent of sulfur in the air and the promise of a new beginning.

Chapter Text

They appeared with a soft BAMF on the wet, green lawn next to the lake at the Xavier mansion. The smell of the grass, dampened by the morning breeze, mixed with the faintly sulfuric air that always came with Kurt's teleportations. The sun was still slowly rising in the sky, painting everything with a pale golden light, reflected in the calm waters of the lake. It was a peaceful scene, almost as if the world had forgotten the conflicts and tragedies that had marked this place so many times.

Kurt took a deep breath, his eyes shining with a feeling that could only be described as relief. Being back at the mansion was like finally breathing after spending so much time submerged. It was home. The place where he could walk through the halls without hiding, where he had friends, routine, and some form of structure. He smiled as he looked around, his tail moving slightly, as if it, too, was happy to be back.

Then he turned to Warren.

The other was standing still, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the building's facade ahead. It was as if his posture screamed tension, and his shoulders, usually raised with pride or arrogance, were now slightly slumped. The soft beating of his mechanical wings against his back revealed an almost palpable nervousness.

Kurt furrowed his brow slightly and approached, his eyes filled with kindness.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and soft, not wanting to push.

Warren took a moment to respond. His eyes were fixed on the walls, the windows, the people walking inside — young faces he recognized. Some of them had fought against him. Others were scared of him. He felt the bitter taste of shame rise in his throat.

"I'm... in the middle of your friends," he murmured, almost in a whisper. "People I attacked. Who saw me... like that. That wasn’t even a year ago, Kurt."

Kurt stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Warren's arm. His fingers were gentle but firm.

"It’s going to be okay," he said with conviction, as if he could protect Warren with those words. "You’re not alone here."

At that moment, a voice sounded in Kurt’s mind. Familiar. Serenely authoritative.

"Kurt, bring Warren to my office, please."

Kurt blinked and nodded slightly, more to himself than to the voice in his head. He then looked at Warren and smiled, trying to ease the visible nervousness on the other’s face.

"The Professor wants to see you," he said, with a slight hesitation. "Is that okay with you?"

Warren looked away for a moment, swallowed hard, and murmured, "Okay."

Kurt nodded once more and extended his hand. Warren took it without saying anything, the grip slightly tense. Then, with another BAMF, they disappeared from the lawn.

They reappeared a moment later in the spacious and elegant room of Professor Charles Xavier. The soft lighting bathed the bookshelves, and the sound of the old clock filled the silence. Xavier was sitting calmly, his hands clasped on the desk, his gaze tranquil and receptive. There was something in the way he looked at Warren that didn’t judge, but also didn’t ignore who he was or what he had done. A look that said, "I see you — completely."

Warren wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on Xavier, while Kurt stayed by his side, silently, like an invisible pillar of support. No words were needed — his presence said it all.

And despite everything... there was a bit of hope in the air. As if, here, in this space between past and present, something new could begin.

Charles looked at Warren with that serene expression that always seemed to hide an ocean of deep thoughts. His eyes expressed more than his words ever could. He lifted his chin slightly, a silent greeting, and then spoke with the calmness that only years of wisdom could offer.

"Good morning, Warren. How are you feeling?"

Warren, being himself, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. The defensive posture was almost automatic, an armor built with sarcasm and sharp replies.

"You can read minds, right? It would save time if you just... did that," he said, in a cold, almost challenging tone.

Charles, however, was unshaken for even a second. He simply smiled kindly.

"Yes, I can," he answered calmly. "But I’m asking because I want to hear your answer, not your mind’s."

A brief silence hung in the air, followed by an impatient sigh from Warren. He looked away, as if looking directly at Charles made him vulnerable.

"I’m fine," he muttered, the word coming out heavier than it seemed. "The best I can be."

Charles nodded, accepting the answer without questioning its superficiality. He didn’t need more details — not at that moment.

"I’m glad you decided to come," he said, his voice firm but warm. "I imagine there’s a good reason for that."

As he said this, his eyes moved slowly from Warren to Kurt, briefly landing on the young blue one standing beside him. Kurt tried not to react, but it was impossible not to feel the slight warmth rising on his face as he noticed the Professor’s perceptive gaze. He knew. He knew exactly what was between them — or what was beginning to form, even if it was still barely defined.

Charles returned his gaze to Kurt.

"Kurt, why don’t you show Warren to his room?" he said, almost casually. "You’ll be sharing one."

Kurt froze for a second. He knew this was a possibility, but actually hearing it out loud caught him off guard. A small flash of joy went through his chest, but he did his best to keep his face neutral, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. His tail, however, betrayed his emotion, wrapping itself discretely around his leg.

Charles, of course, noticed.

"Just remember," he added with a slight, almost mischievous smile, "we're still in a school. Intimacies should be kept to a minimum."

Kurt felt his face burn with embarrassment. A deep blush spread across his cheeks, and he quickly turned toward the door without saying a word. It was better to leave before he made the mistake of trying to justify something that hadn’t even happened yet — or that he didn’t fully understand yet.

Warren, for his part, almost laughed. Almost. If he wasn’t so uncomfortable with the whole atmosphere, he would have openly laughed at how quickly Kurt left, as if fleeing his own trail of sulfur. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, adjusting his wings and casting a quick glance at Charles, who simply gave a slight nod, as if to say: go, it’s okay.

And then he followed Kurt out, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floor. The new chapter of his life had barely begun — and it was already full of contradictory feelings. But one thing was certain: he was no longer alone.

----^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^----

Kurt could have taken them directly to the room with a simple "bamf," but he chose not to. There was something special about walking through the halls of that school again, especially with Warren by his side. It was like rediscovering home, and he wanted to share that with him — show him every corner that made that place more than just a building of bricks and concrete.

"Over there," Kurt said with an excited smile, pointing to a large double door to the left, "is the library. It's bigger than it looks, has several floors, and some books are magical... literally. One time, one tried to bite me." He gave a short laugh, hoping to at least get a smile from Warren, but the blonde just raised an eyebrow.

They kept walking.

"This hallway leads to the classrooms on the second floor. Professor Logan teaches combat down here," he said, making a slight gesture with his head toward a darker, more worn hallway. "He pretends to be tough, but deep down, he cares. Well... maybe a bit too deep down."

Warren walked beside him in silence, his metal wings slightly retracted, making small mechanical noises with each movement. He tried to focus on Kurt's words, really tried, but his eyes... his eyes were everywhere. Every student who passed looked at them. Some discreetly, others openly, as if trying to decide if he was really who they thought — the Horseman of the Apocalypse. The traitor. The enemy.

He felt them like needles pricking his skin.

"Over there is the cafeteria," Kurt said, pointing to a large glass door with tables visible on the other side. "You can eat as much as you want, the kitchen is always open. Jean loves apple pie, so there's always some around... Oh, and the cherry ice cream is amazing."

Kurt seemed so happy telling all this, as if he were reliving his best memories. Warren watched the spark in his eyes and bit his lip. The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to say, wanted to say it was a mistake. That he should never have come. That he didn’t belong here. But Kurt seemed so at peace, so excited, as if this was the beginning of something better — something good, and for the first time, something light.

So he swallowed the words.

"Over there is the training room, we call it the Danger Room — and the name is very literal. It looks like a giant video game, but it can kill you if you’re not careful." He turned to Warren and smiled. "But, like... we almost never die."

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

Kurt just laughed, that low, nasal laugh that sounded like something only he could do that way. It was easy to forget, looking at him now, that this boy had faced so many losses, so many internal wars. It was easy to get lost in that strange lightness, so foreign to Warren — so far from his reality.

They passed through a few more corridors, and then Kurt opened a light blue wooden door.

“This is our room,” he said with a slight blush on his face. “It’s not very big, but it has everything we need. Bed, desk, space for the wings...”

Warren entered carefully, scrutinizing the place with critical eyes. It was simple, yes. But cozy. A place where, for the first time in a long time, he might perhaps lower his guard.

“You’ll have to share the closet with me,” Kurt said, trying to keep the tone light. “But I promise I don’t use many clothes.”

Warren snorted, and this time, he almost smiled. Almost.

Kurt closed the door behind them, and for a moment, silence filled the room. The school seemed distant now, as if the stares and whispers had stayed behind in the corridor.

Warren sat on the bed, his shoulders more tense than he’d like to admit. Kurt watched him carefully, noticing every small gesture, every little discomfort.

“If you want... I can talk to Professor Charles,” Kurt said calmly, sitting at the edge of his own bed. “If it’s too much. He can put you in another room, or...”

Warren cut him off, lifting his eyes. There was something between frustration and exhaustion in them, but there was also a flicker of something different. Something more vulnerable.

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. “It’s just... hard. Being here. Knowing I was part of something that tried to destroy all of this. That they look at me and see a monster.”

Kurt turned his gaze to his hands, his tail slowly coiling around his ankle. He understood — more than anyone.

“Then we’re two monsters sharing a room,” he replied softly, but with tenderness.

Warren realized, the moment those words left Kurt’s mouth, that something inside him twisted violently. “Then we’re two monsters sharing a room.” The phrase echoed like a punch, not against himself — but against everything he saw in Kurt.

He furrowed his brow without even noticing, his jaw muscles tightening, his eyes fixed on the blue face as if they wanted to make him swallow that back. Kurt noticed the look and shrank a little, confused, his tail slowing its movements.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice small, wavering, as if he had stepped on something fragile and didn’t quite understand why.

Warren took a second. He was tense, yes — but for a reason he hadn’t expected. He looked down at his hands, then met Kurt’s gaze again, steady, not looking away.

“You’re not a monster.”

The firmness in his tone surprised even him. There was such an unshakable conviction in it, so raw, that even Kurt was left speechless.

“You’re the purest being I’ve ever met in my life.”

Kurt blinked, his eyes widening, his tail freezing mid-motion. He fumbled immediately, his cheeks turning a deep red under his blue skin.

“I-I... I don’t... you don’t... I just... I meant... like... m-metaphorically? Not that I think... that... you... think that too? I mean... it’s not like I think I’m p-pure, or—”

He immediately fell silent when he felt Warren’s fingers touch his face. It was a light, careful touch, almost reverent. Warren was looking at him with eyes as intense as a stormy sky, and in them, there was a raw, awkward tenderness that Kurt never imagined he’d see reflected there.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, frozen in that moment. Warren smiled lightly, the first sincere smile Kurt had seen from him since Berlin. It was a smile that didn’t try to hide pain, or anger, or arrogance. It was just... human.

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t like the first kiss — the one full of built-up tension, suppressed need, and fear of what would come next. No. This kiss was different. It was calmer, gentler, more silently desperate. As if Warren was finally allowing himself to feel — to feel for real — without the weight of what was, what had been done to him, what he had done.

Kurt responded to the kiss almost immediately, still blushing, still awkward, but with his heart racing and a new warmth coursing through his body. He leaned in more, his hands trembling slightly as they touched Warren’s shoulders.

The kiss lasted longer than it should have, but neither of them wanted to break the moment.

When they pulled away slowly, Kurt’s eyes were still closed for a second, as if he didn’t want to lose the trace of that touch. When he opened them, he found Warren’s eyes just inches from his.

“Why...?” Kurt began, his voice low, almost a whisper, but Warren interrupted.

“Because you make me want to believe again. And I’m tired of running from it.”

Kurt bit his lower lip, his eyes slightly misting — not from sadness, but from something sweeter and more bittersweet at the same time. That kind of emotion you only feel when the soul, no matter how wounded it is, starts to heal.

“I’m not running,” he said, his voice firmer than he expected from himself. “Not from you. Not from us.”

Warren swallowed hard. That hit him in a strange way, as if a part of him wanted to believe he could trust — and, for the first time, it wasn’t just wishful thinking: he believed.

The room was silent, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable silence from before. It was the calm silence of something forming, settling, rebuilding.

Kurt adjusted himself on the bed, leaning back against the wall, and extended his hand to Warren with a shy but affectionate look. Warren hesitated for a moment, but then moved, sitting beside him, his metallic wings carefully folded so they wouldn’t take up all the space. He took Kurt’s hand and intertwined it with his, feeling the different texture of the blue skin, the thin, warm fingers between his.

Nothing was said after that. Neither of them needed to. The simple touch, the comfort of presence, and the silent promise that was there was enough for now.

In that shared room, between new walls and old memories, two broken boys found a little peace. And for them — that was everything.

Chapter Text

Kurt was already running out of arguments. He had been trying to convince Warren to leave the room for at least half an hour, to at least put on a decent shirt and walk with him through the school halls. He wanted to finish showing him the place, formally introduce his friends, give the other boy a chance to feel like he belonged. But Warren was firm at the door, leaning with crossed arms and a scowl, like the whole world was a storm and he was the only umbrella.

"You promised you'd try, remember?" Kurt said for the third time, now standing in the middle of the room, his tail swaying from side to side, betraying his nervousness. "You don't have to smile, don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Just… walk with me. That's all."

Warren rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. The silence between them was starting to gain weight, like it was growing roots into the walls. Kurt sighed loudly and stepped closer, his steps light and careful. He stopped right in front of the other and looked at him.

"You don't have to do this for me, Warren. But maybe you could do it for yourself."

Warren looked away, his jaw muscles tightening. He hated this — hated feeling exposed, like every word Kurt spoke was a knife capable of opening doors he'd locked years ago. But at the same time, that was exactly why he was there. Because Kurt made him feel. And Warren, as reluctant as he was, wanted to feel. He wanted to see if it was possible to build something beyond the wreckage.

Without answering, he huffed and walked to the bed where he had left a random black T-shirt. He put it on with short, irritated movements, but quietly prepared himself to leave. Kurt smiled, relieved, even if restrained — and walked out first, waiting for Warren with the door open.

The halls were busier now. Students coming and going, some already whispering about "the new guy," others just going about their day. Warren walked with his wings tucked in, trying to take up as little space as possible, his eyes always alert, as if expecting a trap at every corner. Kurt, on the other hand, walked beside him like a cheerful guide, his tail swaying gently behind him, and a sparkle in his eyes that made it clear how happy he was that Warren was there.

"That's the library," he said, pointing with enthusiasm. "There's an entire section with rare texts, even some in ancient Latin, if you're into that kind of thing. Jean practically lives there."

Warren gave a vague nod, more focused on the stares than the words. Kurt, noticing this, spoke more softly.

"Ignore them. It'll take a while before they stop staring. But it goes away, I promise."

Further ahead, he pointed to another room with double doors. "Training room. We don’t just use it for combat — Hank sometimes uses it to study new mutation behaviors, like a field lab."

Warren followed silently, just tagging along. As they passed more places, Kurt kept pointing things out: the music room, where Peter once played something so loud it destroyed three speakers; the cafeteria, where Scott and Ororo had a fight over orange juice; the meditation garden where Jean and Jubilee used to sit just to breathe — literally breathe, no drama, no powers.

"This here is the lounge," Kurt pointed finally, "where everyone hangs out after class. There’s a giant couch and old movies nobody wants to watch, but we always end up watching anyway."

Warren let out a sound that almost resembled a muffled laugh. Kurt noticed and looked at him with a small smile.

"See? Not so bad."

"It's tolerable," Warren muttered, glancing around.

Before Kurt could say anything else, footsteps echoed down the hall ahead. He turned his head, quickly recognizing the figures approaching. Jean came first, always with that elegant posture, her eyes sharp. Scott followed close behind, arms crossed like he was heading into a tense meeting. Jubilee looked more relaxed, her gum popping in contrast with the mood, while Ororo walked calmly, but with curious steps.

Kurt felt Warren stiffen beside him, like he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. He didn’t need to look to know Warren’s wings were slightly contracted and his jaw clenched — he was very tense.

Their eyes fell on Warren like he was an exhibit behind glass. Jean observed him carefully, clearly processing more than she let on. There was an attempt at sympathy in her smile, but her eyes were cautious. Scott… well, Scott didn’t look too pleased. It wasn’t open hostility, but almost. Maybe because he remembered Apocalypse. Maybe because some wounds hadn’t healed. Or maybe just because he was Scott.

Jubilee chewed her gum slowly, looking Warren up and down like she was trying to figure out what the fuss was — indifferent, as always. And Ororo… she smiled. A soft smile, almost nostalgic, like someone recognizing something familiar and strange at the same time. She and Warren had shared time under Apocalypse’s shadow, so maybe she understood something the others couldn’t yet.

Kurt cleared his throat lightly, trying to dissipate the suffocating tension that settled like a thick fog in the corridor.

"Hey, guys," he began, forcing a light, hopeful smile. "This is Warren. Warren, these are Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and Ororo."

Jean stepped forward, extending her hand gently. "It’s good to see you around, Warren."

Warren hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity, then shook her hand without saying anything. Jean didn’t seem bothered.

Scott just nodded, without offering a hand, without even pretending to smile. "Professor said you’d be coming."

"Yeah," was all Warren replied, dryly, sharply.

Jubilee raised an eyebrow. "Damn, you do talk. I thought you were one of those silent types with a mean look."

Warren shot her a lazy glance, and Jubilee grinned like she was enjoying her own teasing.

Then Ororo stepped closer, looking at him like she was seeing a living memory. "Good to see you… with a different expression on your face."

He stared at her for a moment, his hardened gaze softening just enough. "You too."

Kurt observed it all, trying to read between the lines, in every look exchanged, in every tension in Warren’s shoulders. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. That none of them would forget Apocalypse overnight. But he also knew Warren wasn’t the same. And he knew that better than anyone.

The group slowly dispersed, returning to their own paths and routines. Kurt then started walking again, now toward the dorms. Warren walked beside him, visibly more tense than before, but still there — still trying.

"Sorry about that," Kurt said quietly. "They’ll… get used to it. Jean and Ororo seem halfway there already. Scott is just… Scott. He’ll take longer."

Warren didn’t respond right away, but after a few steps, he murmured, "They’re right to look at me like that."

Kurt stopped, turning to face him. "You’re not what you did. You’re what you choose to be now. And you chose to be here."

Warren looked away, but didn’t argue.

----^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^----

Getting used to living at the school had been a complicated process.

It wasn’t just about being surrounded by people who, until a few months ago, would’ve seen him as an enemy — he knew how to handle contempt, fear, hatred. It was being surrounded by normality. That school radiated an organized routine, a constant hope for something better, like everyone there truly believed the world could be good. It was stifling in a strange way. For someone like Warren, who had spent so long trapped in a cycle of rage, guilt, and destruction, that place felt silently loud. Every laugh in the hallway, every excited conversation in the cafeteria, every study or training plan — all of it clashed with the storm he carried inside.

Kurt went to his classes, excited as always. His enthusiasm was one of the few things that brought any color to Warren’s gray days. But when he left, the room became a strange place. Quiet, yes, but not in a good way. A silence that weighed. A silence that echoed the days spent in Apocalypse’s shadow.

Warren buried himself in Kurt’s comics and books, not because they were exactly his taste, but because they were his. And anything that belonged to Nightcrawler, even if silly or innocent, was more comforting than facing the world outside. He reread the same volumes repeatedly, already knew some lines by heart. Still, it was better than walking through the halls and feeling eyes follow his every step, like everyone was waiting for him to snap, or attack someone. Like he was an unstable experiment. A wild animal kept in check only by Xavier’s word.

He hated that feeling. But he still couldn’t fight it.

Until, one random late afternoon, he looked out the window and noticed something unusual: the garden was empty. No groups studying in the shade of the trees, no impromptu soccer matches, no couples sneaking kisses near the greenhouses.

Nothing.

Just grass, wind, the slowly orange sky of dusk, and open space.

Warren got up from the bed slowly. Walked to the window with caution, as if expecting someone to jump out from behind a bush just to point at him and judge. But no. No one. For the first time in days, the outside world felt like it was his.

He hesitated for a few minutes. He thought about what Kurt would say — probably something like "You should go out more. Fresh air is good for you." But even if Kurt didn’t approve, he needed this. He missed it. Not walking. Not watching.

He wanted to fly.

With nervous fingers, he went down the stairs, crossed the main hall without running into anyone, and finally pushed open the doors that led to the garden. A light breeze blew, ruffling his blond hair and cooling his skin. He closed his eyes for a second. It was like breathing again.

The grass beneath his boots felt inviting, the vastness of the sky called to him like a promise. His wings, until then folded tightly against his back, opened slowly — the gleaming metal catching the last rays of sunlight like divine blades. They were heavy, cold… but they were his. And he loved them in a way no one would ever understand.

With a powerful beat, he launched himself into the sky.

The force of the takeoff, the wind against his face, the adrenaline flooding every inch of his body — it was like feeling alive again. He soared above the treetops, spun in the air, dove down just to climb higher. Up there, no one looked at him that way. No one remembered what he had been. No one expected anything from him. Just the wind, the sky, and him.

For a few minutes, there was no Xavier, no judgment, no past. There was only freedom.

But when he flew a little lower, he felt a slight jolt in his chest.

Kurt was on the roof.

Sitting there as if it were something routine, his tail swaying slightly and his eyes fixed on him, a small, calm smile on his face. He didn’t look surprised. Or angry. Just… proud.

Warren landed with a lightness that contradicted his metallic appearance. His wings folded with a low, firm sound, and he walked over to where Kurt was.

"You fly beautifully," Kurt said, without irony, without exaggeration. Just the raw, gentle truth of someone who sees beauty where others see threat.

Warren looked at him, not exactly sure how to react. For a moment, he thought about pretending indifference, but gave up. Kurt deserved the truth.

"I was suffocating in there," he confessed. "I needed this."

"I know," Kurt replied, turning his eyes to the sky that was beginning to darken. "I need it too, sometimes. To go out. To breathe. To remember we’re more than what they say about us."

There was a comfortable silence. Warren sat beside him, his wings now resting against the cool tiles of the roof.

"You knew I was flying, didn’t you?"

"Of course," Kurt smiled. "I was waiting for you."

"Do you always wait for me?"

Kurt looked at him, and there was something in his golden eyes that made Warren’s chest tighten in a way that was both good and desperate.

"Always."

Warren didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. He just allowed himself to stay there, beside the blue boy, watching the night sky arrive, feeling the world slow down. For the first time, since everything had fallen apart…

He felt like he could rebuild something.

Chapter Text

Warren was, in a way, adjusting well.

He was still a recluse, true. He avoided crowded hallways, dodged gazes, kept his wings folded as much as he could to avoid drawing attention — which, let’s be honest, was pointless. But at least he was leaving his room. In the first few days, Kurt would quietly celebrate just by seeing his name lit up on the mansion's location radar, indicating he was in the garden or the library. A step forward. And when, on particularly quiet mornings, Warren would come down and walk through the courtyard — always at times he knew no one else would be there — Kurt would feel his heart tighten with a calm kind of joy. It wasn’t much, but it was more than before.

He was still afraid. And not of what Warren could do, but of what they could do to Warren.

The other students didn’t say it out loud, but the tension was visible. Many still associated that face with battles, with the chaos in Berlin, with the wreckage. It was unfair, but understandable. And Kurt knew that.

He also knew that, as much as he tried to balance things on his own, there would come a time when he’d need his friends’ help.

That’s why, on a random afternoon, he called the closest ones to talk in one of the empty locker rooms in the gym. Nothing too formal — he just wanted to talk to them without Warren knowing. He didn’t want him to feel like a forced integration project.

Jean was the first to arrive, wearing that soft and gentle smile that rarely left her face. Ororo came right after, with her calm expression and sharp eyes. Scott, as always, looked a little tense and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Jubilee and Peter walked in together — and for heaven’s sake, Kurt could feel their restless energy even before they opened their mouths.

“So... what’s up, blue elf?” Peter asked with a crooked grin, spinning a mint between his fingers.

Kurt looked at all of them seriously. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s about Warren.”

Jubilee raised an eyebrow. Scott looked away. Jean just nodded, patient. Ororo stayed silent, but her eyes showed she was listening closely.

“He’s trying,” Kurt said. “Really. And I know that... what happened in Berlin still weighs on everyone. But he’s not that guy anymore. He’s trying to be someone better. He just... needs a little space. Patience. And maybe... friends.”

For a moment, the group went silent.

Jean was the first to reply.

“I think you’re right, Kurt. And I trust your judgment. If you believe he’s changed, then it’s only fair to give him a chance.” She smiled gently, like someone who knows the weight of unfair judgment.

Ororo nodded. “I don’t think he’s the same man who fought beside Apocalypse. But... I saw the look in his eyes. And I’ve seen that look before. We met in the worst possible moment, but... I know how to recognize someone who’s lost everything and is still trying to move forward. I’m in.”

Kurt smiled, relieved, but Scott still looked hesitant.

“I don’t trust him. Not completely,” Scott said, blunt as ever. “But... if the professor trusts him. And you do too. Then... I’ll try. Just... I’m keeping an eye on him, alright?”

Kurt nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Scott.”

Peter flopped onto one of the benches and propped his feet up on another.

“Well, if I get to be part of a cinematic redemption arc, I’m in!” he said, way too excited. “I mean, picture it — the ex-Angel of Apocalypse trying to make friends with two teens addicted to bad jokes. That screams tragic comedy. Can’t wait.”

Jubilee let out a short laugh. “It’ll be great. Or a disaster. But fun, for sure.”

Kurt sighed, a mix of gratitude and concern. Their excitement was good, of course, but they were the center of every prank and mess in the past few months. If they wanted to get close to Warren... maybe he’d have to ask them not to throw neon paint on his metal wings. Even so, Kurt smiled. It was a start. And as long as the road ahead might be, every step counted.

And now, Warren wouldn’t have to walk it alone.

——^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^——

The sky was tinged with gold and orange, a sea of warm colors painting the horizon as if the world had been dipped in gentle fire. The wind blew steady and cold, but not enough to be bothersome. High above, where the world felt more distant, Warren experienced a rare moment of peace.

His eyes stayed shut for long seconds, feeling the air against his skin as his wings beat softly, keeping him suspended, floating. Flying was never just a gift. To him, it was liberation. It was when he left the ground — and with it, the voices, the stares, the expectations. Up here, he wasn’t Apocalypse’s Archangel. He wasn’t the new student. He wasn’t the subject of whispered hallway conversations. Up here, he was just... him.

That’s when he felt something. A familiar scent, subtle, carried by the wind alongside a barely audible bamf in the distance. He opened his eyes and needed no more than a few seconds to spot Kurt approaching. That blue blur surrounded by a soft purple mist, moving through the air with awkward elegance — and yet, it made Warren’s heart beat faster.

Involuntarily, his lips curved into a smile. Small. Almost imperceptible. But genuine. It was amazing how that boy managed to break through the walls Warren himself had built. He watched him approach, tail twisting in the air, golden eyes glowing in the fading light of the evening. And then, an impulse: to descend, to land, to pull him close and kiss him. Again. Again. Because — as much as he hated to admit — he’d developed an addiction to Kurt Wagner’s mouth.

It was ridiculous. And undeniable.

But before he could even start flapping his wings to descend, something made him stop.

Behind Kurt, coming from the main building, were Jean, Scott, Ororo, Peter, and Jubilee.

Warren’s smile died instantly. His body reacted before his mind did: his brow furrowed, his wings stiffened slightly, and he changed direction, diving quickly, feet landing firmly on the ground. He pretended not to notice the shine in Kurt’s eyes as he approached, pretended not to feel that strange thump in his chest when he saw him smile. All of it buried beneath the shadow cast by the five others approaching.

He turned, keeping his face neutral, almost bored. A mask. Because if there was one thing Warren was good at, it was hiding how he felt.

Kurt landed seconds later, and the smile he wore slowly became more timid, as if he too had noticed Warren’s shift in mood. But he said nothing. He just stood beside him, like he always did, as if that space had been shaped to fit the two of them.

Jean was the first to approach, her smile soft but cautious.

“Hi, Warren,” she said calmly, as if weighing each word before releasing it. “It was beautiful up there. You fly so lightly.”

Warren simply nodded. “It’s what I do.”

Scott crossed his arms, not bothering to hide his discomfort. His eyes flicked from Warren to Kurt, then back to Warren. “We’re just... trying to be polite, alright? Nobody’s forcing friendship here.”

“Scott!” Jean scolded gently, but firmly.

“No, it’s fine,” Warren said, his voice low and controlled. “I prefer honesty anyway.”

Peter jumped in before the mood could get worse. “Relax, man! We come in peace! I’m like the ambassador of good vibes, y’know? Bringing fun, bad jokes, and a bottomless supply of candy!”

Jubilee smacked Peter on the back, laughing. “Trust me, he won’t stop until you laugh at least once. And that’s a warning.”

Ororo stepped closer, with a calm, almost maternal air. “We know it’ll take time. But... if you’re willing to try, we are too.”

Warren looked at each of them. Still wary. Still defensive. But... not completely closed off.

And then he looked at Kurt. That gentle, patient gaze. Always patient.

The urge to kiss him was still there, throbbing like a muscle under tension.

But not now.

Now, he would have to endure it. Because if there was one thing he hated more than being judged... it was looking weak in front of those who still expected him to fail.

The group lingered there for a while, the sky slowly tinged with the deep hues of the approaching night. The stars were already beginning to light up above like tiny shards of glass scattered across the dark veil, but no one seemed in a hurry to leave.

Warren kept his arms crossed, wings folded tightly behind his body, as if constantly holding himself back. His gaze stayed alert but distant — never settling on anyone for long, except for Kurt. From time to time, his eyes discreetly shifted toward the blue figure on his left, as if that was the only anchor keeping him from simply turning around and flying away.

Even so, the others seemed determined to chip away — even just a sliver — of that armor.

“So... have you ever flown over the ocean?” Peter asked, head tilted slightly, as if genuinely curious. “Like... high enough to see where the blue of the sky blends with the blue of the water?”

Warren stared at him for a few seconds, then replied curtly, “Yeah. It’s cold.”

Peter laughed. “Dude, that’s the saddest answer anyone’s ever given to something so poetic.”

“I don’t see much poetry in freezing your fingers off,” Warren shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly — something between the ghost of a smile and a flicker of exhaustion.

“He’s trying, Pete,” Jean murmured, smiling faintly. “That was practically an ‘I like you’ in Warren language.”

“Oh! Got it!” Peter said theatrically. “Like his own dialect. We should write a dictionary. ‘Warrense: Volume One, Sarcasm and Silence.’”

Warren gave him a sidelong glance that, coming from anyone else, might have been a threat. But Peter just winked and laughed louder. He was like a fly that refused to be swatted — annoying, but hard to hate.

Ororo sat on the edge of a nearby wall, watching Warren with a calm air. “You’re handling this better than we expected,” she commented, her voice low and serene. “Most in your place would’ve snapped in the first week.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I used to snap on the inside. Now I just... swallow it.”

“Swallowing too much eventually hurts,” she said, without judgment in her tone. “You don’t have to please anyone here. You just have to exist.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment, heavier than anyone really wanted to deal with. But they were true. And Warren heard them. Even without replying, he kept them.

Jubilee, until then leaning against a tree with her arms crossed, stepped forward and pulled something from her pocket. A pack of gum. She tossed him one.

“No poison, I promise,” she said. “Just mint. Strong enough to burn your tongue. I like it that way.”

Warren caught the gum midair, looked at it, and without a word, popped it into his mouth. Chewed slowly, as if testing it. Then said, “Could be stronger.”

Jubilee whistled, impressed. “He has taste.”

“He does,” Kurt murmured with a smile, his tail swaying slightly behind him.

Scott, who had been quiet until then, spoke for the first time in minutes. “You’re kinda... hard to deal with,” he said bluntly, gaze steady. “But if Kurt thinks you’re worth it, we’ll try.”

Warren looked at him, eyes cold as ever. But there was no provocation. Just silent acknowledgment.

“I don’t want anyone pretending,” he replied. “If you’re gonna hate me, really hate me.”

Scott gave a half-smile. “I’m not good at pretending. But I can try... not hating. For Kurt.”

Warren nodded. That was the best he could manage.

They stayed there a while longer. The conversation went on — fragmented, sometimes awkward, sometimes lightly amusing. Peter cracked jokes, Jean kept the peace, Ororo made wise remarks no one expected, and Jubilee threw playful jabs whenever silence threatened to fall.

Warren replied with short phrases, calculated looks, and subtle sarcasm. But he replied. And to them, that was a beginning.

Kurt stayed beside him the whole time. He didn’t push. He was just there. Present. Warm. Loyal. When the conversation faltered, he’d say something sweet or let out a soft laugh that made the others laugh too.

And Warren — even without showing it — noticed.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. That judgmental looks would still exist. But somehow... there, in that moment, with that strange, loud group — it didn’t seem so impossible to keep trying.

Chapter Text

The Danger Room was vastly silent when Kurt and Warren entered the silvery, artificial space. With the professor’s permission, Kurt had brought Warren there with the intention of doing something different, maybe even fun—or at least useful. The blond didn’t look the slightest bit excited. His metal wings, reflecting the room’s cold light, were partially tucked in, as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

“Are you sure about this?” Warren asked, his eyes scanning the space as though expecting something to leap out from a corner.

“It’s just a training session,” Kurt replied with a calm smile, his golden eyes sparkling with an almost childlike excitement at being there. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

Warren didn’t respond right away. He crossed his arms, his wings shifting with a soft sound of metallic friction. “You’ve got a lot of faith in this training,” he muttered, more to himself than to the other.

Kurt chuckled quietly, walking across the polished floor with the ease of someone more at home here than anywhere else. “The Danger Room simulates the targets, remember? We don’t need to hit each other if you don’t want to. But... I think it’d be good for you to test your reflexes, your strength, see how far you can go now.”

“Now,” Warren repeated with a slight bitterness in his voice, looking at his own hands. They felt heavier than they were, as if still carrying the shadow of what he’d done as one of the Horsemen of Apocalypse.

Kurt noticed, as always. He stepped closer, his footsteps silent like a feline’s. “You’re more than what happened, Warren. What matters is what you do with what’s left.”

Warren closed his eyes for a second, inhaling slowly. “Alright. A training session. But if you get hurt, I don’t want to hear you whining about it later.”

Kurt smiled with more enthusiasm than necessary. “I promise I’ll whine a lot, just to make you feel guilty.”

That earned a faint huff of laughter from Warren, who shook his head. The metallic sound of his wings unfolding echoed through the room as he stretched them out firmly, getting into position.

The training began with simple targets. Holographic forms appeared and vanished, forcing Warren to move quickly, his attacks precise, devastating. Kurt teleported from one corner to another, creating distractions, sometimes even teasing with playful provocations that made Warren a little annoyed—and maybe just a little more focused.

As minutes passed, Warren seemed more at ease. His movements flowed, and even when he missed, there was no frustration, only determination. Kurt, in turn, watched every move with sharp eyes—not only analyzing as a training partner but also as someone who cared deeply.

At one point, a sequence of targets rose from the floor and walls, simulating a siege. Kurt appeared beside Warren with a bamf and whispered, “Dynamic duo time?” before vanishing again with a laugh.

Warren couldn’t help but smile at that. He soared through the air, spinning with almost artistic precision, destroying two targets while Kurt took down the others. For a brief instant, their rhythm was nearly perfect, a synchronicity built on trust and care.

Kurt was ridiculously good at dodging—that much Warren already knew. It wasn’t surprising, of course—the guy could teleport, for God’s sake. Vanished in a puff of sulfur and reappeared meters ahead as if physics didn’t apply to him. And on top of that, he had that body far too flexible to be fair in a fight. Warren hated to admit it, but sometimes—just sometimes—he’d catch himself watching the way Kurt moved. That lean silhouette, the well-defined muscles under blue skin, those smooth, agile movements like a dancer... it was infuriating. And maybe a little intriguing. Especially when Kurt did those full aerial spins and landed with bent knees, tail swinging behind him like a mischievous cat.

Warren preferred not to think too much about how that affected him.

As the training sequence continued, Kurt laughed as if it were all a game, his thick accent slipping into the teasing. “You’ll have to do better than that, mein Freund!” he shouted, teleporting again before Warren could hit him.

Warren gritted his teeth, wings stretching with force. It was getting personal now. He watched, alert, the teleportation patterns. Kurt had a habit of popping up in three favorite spots—right of the target, above, or just behind. Sooner or later, he’d fall into the trap.

And he did.

Kurt reappeared with a bamf a meter off the ground, back turned, about to launch another tease. That was the exact second Warren needed.

With a swift, precise move, Warren launched himself and, before Kurt could react, grabbed him firmly by the tail. The motion was so fast the blue mutant didn’t even have time to protest. A surprised yelp escaped his throat as his body was yanked toward the padded floor of the Danger Room. He hit the ground on his back with a dull thud—no pain, but a slightly bruised ego. And when he opened his eyes, he was staring up at Warren.

Literally.

The Angel’s metallic wings were fully extended, casting an imposing, almost celestial shadow above them. Warren had one knee between Kurt’s legs, the other stretched out beside his body, hands on the ground on either side of Kurt’s head. Blond hair fell slightly over his face, and there was a victorious smile on his lips—a rare, genuine smile Kurt hardly ever saw. A smile that made Warren look like someone else for a moment, someone lighter, someone... happy.

“Got you,” he said, voice low and husky from the exertion.

Kurt blinked. Then blinked again. His tail, still trapped in Warren’s hand, twitched instinctively, but didn’t break free. His golden eyes stared into the other’s blue with a mix of shock and amusement.

“That was... unfair,” he managed to say, laughing afterward.

“It was strategy,” Warren replied with a crooked grin. “You get too cocky when you’re winning.”

“I was winning,” Kurt shot back, laughing louder.

Warren tilted his face slightly, watching him for a moment that lasted longer than it should. Sweat ran down the side of Kurt’s face, making his black hair stick to his forehead. His chest rose and fell quickly, and even so, he was smiling—truly smiling, eyes glowing, not caring at all about being pinned there, completely at the mercy of the ex-Horseman.

For a moment, Warren hesitated—eyes locked on Kurt’s, as if looking for an excuse not to give in to the impulse burning inside him. But he didn’t find one. Because there was no more resistance. No more fear, no more shame. Only that moment, adrenaline still rushing through their veins, warm bodies, and the world around them seeming distant, blurred, as if everything had been reduced to the narrow space between one chest and another.

And then he leaned in.

Warren’s lips met Kurt’s firmly, with restrained intensity, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words. The kiss wasn’t hesitant or shy. It was direct, determined, almost desperate, like he’d been holding back for too long—and now there was no reason to.

Kurt responded instantly. A small sound escaped his throat, somewhere between surprise and pleasure, and his tail reacted almost automatically, sliding behind Warren’s legs and wrapping tightly around his thigh, holding him there. Trapped. As if Kurt’s body, even without thinking, was saying stay.

Kurt’s blue hands rose to Warren’s face, fingers tracing along his cheekbones, tangling in the slightly damp blond hair. He pulled gently, tilting Warren’s face to the side and deepening the kiss with confidence, like they both already knew the rhythm, the urgency, the unspoken desire that had been bubbling between them since that first lingering glance, since the first exchange of words that hid more than they revealed.

Warren let out a shaky breath against Kurt’s mouth, his fingers gripping the floor tightly. He was aware of the heat, of the way their bodies fit together there, of the breath turning ragged, of the sweet, intoxicating taste of Kurt’s lips. Everything in him screamed not to stop. To forget everything—the mansion, the friends, the looks, the dark past and open scars—and just be there. Feeling.

And so he did.

The kiss slowed, but lost none of its intensity. There was something almost reverent in the way Warren touched Kurt now—one hand moving to his jaw, thumb sliding over the blue skin, as if he wanted to memorize every contour. The tail squeezed tighter, bodies pressed together, and still, neither seemed willing to break the moment.

When they finally parted, it was with uneven breathing and flushed faces. Foreheads resting together, eyes still closed for a brief moment, as if they wanted to hold on a little longer to that bubble of safety and silence.

"That was..." Kurt began, breathless, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A point for you."

Warren laughed, hoarsely. "I think I’ve lost count of how many points I want to score with this."

Kurt opened his eyes and looked into his with affection, still wrapped around his leg, still trapped beneath him. "You should try to win them all."

Warren blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. His brain spinning like it needed extra time to process what he had just heard. Did he mean what I think he meant? His eyes were still locked on Kurt’s, who now looked much more uncomfortable than before – a funny contrast, considering that seconds ago he had been practically melting in his arms, returning that kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You want to...?" Warren started, his voice low and a bit hesitant, as if afraid to finish the sentence. He didn’t want to assume wrong. Didn’t want to come off as too forward. But... what if it really was that?

He didn’t need to finish. Kurt, already slightly flushed, abruptly turned his face away, avoiding his gaze with almost comical speed. The tail still wrapped around him gave a gentle squeeze before slowly unraveling, maybe reflecting its owner's sudden embarrassment.

"I... would prefer it to be in a room with more privacy," Kurt mumbled, eyes fixed anywhere but Warren. His voice came out a bit muffled, almost as if he were trying to bury his words under the weight of shame. "Here... here there are cameras and sensors and... and it's just training. It wouldn't be... appropriate."

For a moment, everything went silent. Warren simply stared at him, as if still not fully believing what he had just heard. Not that he had never thought about it – of course he had. Many times, involuntarily. Like when he saw Kurt stretching in the garden or laughing at some dumb joke from Peter. Or when he saw him coming out of the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder, barefoot, tail swaying carelessly. It was like everything about Kurt conspired to drive him insane.

But never – never – had he imagined Kurt would take the lead. That he’d be the first to suggest something like that. And above all, with such... ease.

Warren ran his tongue over his lips, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to form. His chest was still rising and falling with rapid breaths, but now the heat didn’t come only from training or combat tension.

"You keep surprising me," he said, his voice a bit rougher than usual, a slight laugh escaping as he pulled back a little – but not enough to break the closeness between them. His eyes still sparkled, but now there was a touch of tenderness there, mixed with the enchanted confusion he felt every time he looked at Kurt.

Kurt, on the other hand, still looked like he wanted to dig a hole in the floor and vanish. But there was a shameless little smile dancing at the corner of his lips. A smile Warren knew well. The kind of smile he wore when he was up to something – or when he knew he was in control of the situation.

"It’s not like I said we should do it here, in the middle of the room," Kurt finally replied, his voice steadier now, despite the redness stubbornly climbing his cheeks. "I just... thought you should know. That I... want to."

Warren nodded slowly, feeling his heart beat a little faster, a little deeper. It wasn’t just about desire. It was about trust. Kurt trusted him. Enough to surrender like that, to open up, even while still red with embarrassment. And that... that moved him more than any kiss or touch had so far.

Chapter Text

Kurt never thought he had moved so quickly to his room in his entire life. In fact, he could barely remember walking up the stairs, down the hallway, or feeling the cold doorknob in his hand. It was as if he had been teleported on autopilot—which was ironic, considering his skill. But this time, it wasn’t teleportation that had brought him there. It was his racing heart, the anticipation flaring in every cell, and that look in Warren’s eyes that made him melt inside like chocolate in the sun.

As he closed the door behind him, Kurt felt the air thicken in the room. The room seemed bigger than ever, and at the same time, too small to contain everything he was feeling at that moment. The nervousness was palpable. His fingers tingled, his tail curled around his leg as if to hide his anxiety. His thoughts were a mess—was he really going to do this to Warren? The idea, as new as it was, strangely didn’t scare him. What paralyzed him was the intensity of the emotion that accompanied it.

Just imagining it made his whole body shiver. Not with fear. With excitement. Pure, raw, overwhelming. It was as if his own instincts recognized that something important, something that would mark his life forever, was about to happen.

"Are you okay?" Warren asked, his voice deep but gentle, pulling Kurt out of his mental whirlwind.

Kurt swallowed hard, his wide eyes meeting Warren's for a second before looking away, as if he couldn't handle so much concentrated tenderness. He forced a nervous smile and murmured: "I-I'm fine..."

Warren approached calmly, his steps firm but soft, as if he respected sacred territory. And that was what Kurt was to him: sacred. With his warm, large hands, he held Kurt's face gently, his thumbs caressing his bluish cheeks.

"We don't have to do this if you don't feel ready," he said, with that tone that always made Kurt's heart soften. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just presence. Just security.

“No, I’m ready,” Kurt answered, too quickly, before taking a deep breath and correcting himself: “Just… j-just a little nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

The words floated between them, full of truth, and the impact of them seemed to hit Warren straight in the chest. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled. One of those slow, soft, patient smiles—the kind of smile you don’t see every day, the kind that makes your soul breathe a sigh of relief.

“I was like that too… the first time,” Warren admitted, his voice a confessional whisper in the silence of the room. “It’s normal. But I want you to know that… it’s not an obligation. We’re not proving anything to anyone.”

Kurt nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Warren’s now. They were close. Too close. Their breath mingled in the air, and there was an electricity hovering between their bodies, as if something invisible was drawing them together with more force than any mutant power.

"I want this," Kurt said more firmly. "I want... you. Just... go easy on me, please." Warren leaned his forehead against his, closing his eyes for a moment, as if that simple gesture was enough to align everything inside him.

"Always," he replied, almost in a sigh. "I would never do anything to hurt you, Kurt. Never." Kurt felt the words seep into him like a balm. The tension began to dissolve, little by little.

One of Warren's fingers traced the line of his jaw, then trailed down his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Kurt's tail moved again, this time wrapping around Warren's waist, as if his body were saying what the words were still hesitant to say.

"You're beautiful," Warren whispered, with an almost reverent affection, as if he still couldn't believe this moment was really happening. "Inside and out."

"So are you," Kurt replied, his voice lower but sincere. Golden eyes shining with emotion.

"Even when you try to look all tough... I can see what's inside you." Warren let out a low, husky laugh before kissing Kurt's cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips with the same softness with which one touches a promise.

Kurt wrapped his arms around Warren's shoulders in an almost instinctive gesture, as if his body were acting on its own, seeking safety in that touch, in that warmth. Warren, in turn, wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt's waist, as if silently saying "I have you here, with me," and deepened the kiss with an intensity that made the entire world around him disappear completely.

Kurt's body shook with the force of that gesture, as if a lightning bolt had struck him from the center of his chest to the tip of his tail. Everything in his body seemed to respond to Warren's touch—his hands, his lips, his racing heart. It was as if he had ignited something in him that not even Kurt knew existed.

A warm glow took over every inch of his skin, almost as if he were about to explode with emotion. Warren continued the kiss, firm, present, but still gentle. The two moved with an unexpected synchrony, as if they were dancing something ancient, almost sacred. Between one kiss and the other, Warren pushed Kurt back slightly, until his legs touched the edge of the bed.

In a quick and awkwardly graceful gesture, Kurt fell onto the mattress with a soft "oof", pulling Warren with him—who was soon on top of him, supported with his arms on either side of his head, his body hovering over his, his blond hair falling lightly over his eyes. Kurt looked up, his golden eyes shining with a mix of nervousness, affection, and something deeper—something ineffable.

He bit his lower lip lightly, as if trying to contain a smile. His fingers curled into the fabric of Warren's shirt, tugging gently. Warren stared at him for a moment that seemed eternal. His eyes traveled over Kurt's face as if seeing it for the first time—the blue tone of his skin, the soft glow of the light that fell on him, the tail that now rested partly on the bed, partly on his own leg, and most of all... his gaze.

That gaze that made his chest ache from how beautiful it was. Warren had never seen Kurt like that. So devoted, so present, so real. It was as if the demonic-looking mutant boy had become an angel right there in front of him—a being of light, of life, of pure emotion. It almost seemed as if a divine light enveloped his body, and for a second, Warren thought that maybe he wasn't so wrong after all.

"You're... unbelievable," Warren murmured, almost without thinking, his eyes fixed on Kurt's.

Kurt smiled shyly, his blue cheeks turning a darker shade, almost purple with blushing. He turned his head slightly, but didn't look away completely.

"You're the one saying that, with those giant wings and that shampoo-commercial hair," he said, trying to hide his nervousness with a joke, as he always did.

Warren laughed—a real laugh, the kind he rarely let slip—and leaned in to kiss Kurt's forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally his lips again. The kiss was slower now, deeper, almost reverent. Every movement they made seemed charged with meaning. Warren's hands slid down Kurt's sides, mapping him with respect but also with restrained desire.

Kurt ran his fingers down Warren's back, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, the structure of his wings as his fingers brushed against the base of them. It was like touching a living sculpture, made of warmth and strength and history.

The room was silent, but there was enough noise in their hearts to fill the space between them. The air was warm, thick.

"I never thought..." Kurt began, but stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I never thought anyone would look at me like that."

"Like what?" Warren asked, his voice lower, his face now close to his neck.

"Like I'm... beautiful. Like I'm enough."

Warren looked up, serious, touching Kurt's face again. "You're beautiful, Kurt. You're... enough and more. You're amazing just the way you are."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing those words as if they were the only truth that mattered. And maybe, in that moment, they really were.

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion.

Warren smiled, leaning in again to kiss him. Now, they weren't in a hurry. They weren't looking for anything other than each other. The kisses slowly intensified, like a tide that slowly rises, until it covered everything.

Hands explored what they could, pressing places that made the blueness extreme. He was never used to physical touch, much less in this context. Kurt could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest, like a machine gun that wouldn't stop firing.

Little by little, the clothes came off, and God, if Warren was already amazed by Kurt before, he was even more so now. He was simply perfect, his body was built by God, Warren was almost certain.

Kurt felt his face heat up, not only because of Warren's gaze, which seemed to want to swallow him whole. But also because of the sight of the blond above him, his wings partially open, in all their glory, he was beautiful.

Then he lifted himself up a little, his face close to Warren's, and kissed him again. Maybe he had acquired a small addiction to the blond's lips, but no one needed to know about that.

"Can I touch you?" Warren asked, a soft tone in his voice. Kurt was a little unsure of how to use his own words, so he just nodded.

Warren then kissed his lips, and with one of his free hands he slowly moved down to touch Kurt's cock.

"Mm!" Kurt moaned between the kiss, a moan that Warren swallowed with total fervor.

His body tensed at each movement of his hand. Warren watched all of Kurt's reactions, which only made him do it more. His own cock throbbed, fully ready to enter Kurt's cavity.

"W-Warren..." Kurt said his name, Warren felt his whole body shiver.

"Yes?"

"P-please..I.." Kurt clenched the sheets beneath him. He was close.

The blond smiled and increased the movement, going as fast as his aching wrist could handle. Kurt moaned loudly, he hoped no one was listening. Fuck, he could reach his orgasm on his own if he kept hearing his moans like that.

Kurt could feel his whole body tensing. He had experienced orgasms before, being a young man it was normal. But the feeling of another hand other than his own was too overwhelming. His whole body was hot.

"Uh-huh!"

He spurted his load out, staining his own abdomen white. Warren felt satisfied, he wanted to be able to frame the image of a devastated Kurt trying to recover from his orgasm. Well, it's not like he was looking forward to it.

Without giving Kurt time to recover, Warren kissed him hard. All his control going to hell, it was impossible to have any at that moment. His cock throbbed in anticipation.

"I'm going to prepare you, okay?"

"O-okay..."

Kurt tried to relax as much as possible. Warren was being gentle, even though it hurt a little.

"Mm..." Kurt felt slightly uncomfortable, but bearable.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little, but I'm fine."

Warren stopped and leaned on either side of Kurt's head. His look said it all, Kurt nodded, then Warren entered. Kurt's whole body trembled, he clung to Warren tightly. It hurt more than his fingers, he tried to relax.

"Fuck!" Warren said, holding himself back from moving his hips too quickly.

Of course, it didn't take long for him to move. And at the same time Kurt let out a super loud moan, which went straight to Warren's dick, which he almost came right there.

Sounds of skin against skin and moans were the only sound to be heard in the room. Kurt was seeing clouds, he wanted to sink into that feeling and never leave.

Warren already felt tense, he bent down and kissed Kurt's mouth, muffling a little the moans that were coming out. He sped up, his movements becoming erratic.

"Shit!"

Warren said, thrusting a few more times and pulling out, cumming on his belly. His sperm mixed with Kurt's.

Their breathing was still erratic, mixed with the heat that filled the room. Warren remained above him for a few more seconds, his arms resting on Kurt's sides, carefully supporting his own weight. His face, still flushed, showed an expression of someone who wasn't entirely sure if all of this was real. Sweat trickled down his temple, mixed with the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand. Kurt was lying on his back, his eyes half-open, his pupils dilated, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Are you... okay?" Warren asked hoarsely, almost in a whisper. There was a subtle fear there, a genuine concern that kept him from simply relaxing.

"Yes..." Kurt replied, his voice muffled and sleepy, his tail hanging limply over the side of the bed. He offered a small smile, without the strength for anything bigger, but still sincere.

Warren laughed softly, relieved, and then carefully got off of him, as if any sudden movement could break the moment. He lay down next to Kurt, taking every care in the world not to hurt him with his wings—which were now slowly folding, as if they were also exhausted.

The silence in the room was comfortable. The orange light of the sunset filtered through the cracks in the curtains, tinting the sheets in shades of gold and violet. Kurt's breathing was starting to calm, and for a moment he just stared at the ceiling, still trying to process what had happened.

Warren turned on his side, resting his face on his hand and watching Kurt with a gentle intensity. "You were... amazing," he murmured, without irony or charm, just pure honesty. "And beautiful. So beautiful..."

Kurt laughed softly, his cheeks tinted dark blue with shyness. "You too," he replied, turning his face to him. "I never imagined that... that it would be with you."

"Me neither," Warren admitted, reaching out and running his fingers through Kurt's messy hair, brushing strands away from his forehead. "But I'm glad it was."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. No masks, no sarcasm, no burden of complicated pasts or hard-won battles. There, in that room suffocated by the heat of an intimate and meaningful moment, were just two boys who had found each other in the chaos and somehow chosen each other.

Kurt sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was something softer there. "You're staying here tonight, right?" he asked in a low, almost shy voice.

"Sure," Warren said without hesitation, lying down more comfortably and pulling the blanket over them. "If you let me."

"You never have to ask for permission," Kurt replied with a yawn.

Silence fell again, this time lulled by a comforting weariness. Kurt's tail slowly wrapped around Warren's leg, as if even unconsciously he didn't want to let go. Warren just smiled and, with one of his wings, gently covered part of Kurt as if it were a blanket.

The night arrived slowly and quietly, and in the center of it, the sound of their synchronized breathing was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Kurt was glowing.

He rarely walked — and today, even less. Bamf. A trail of purple smoke and the typical smell of sulfur filled the Xavier Mansion's kitchen as he appeared out of nowhere, hanging upside down from the chandelier like the house's very own bat. His hair was still messy from sleep, but his eyes sparkled with an almost magical intensity, and there was a wide, utterly irrepressible smile on his face.

"Someone looks happy," Peter commented with his usual mocking tone, sitting at the table and eating pancakes at a slightly alarming speed, even for a speedster.

"Can't I?" Kurt asked, voice cheerful, swinging his tail once in the air before using it to stretch toward the fruit bowl and steal a perfectly red apple.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You can do anything when you fly in, grinning like a magical toothpaste ad and literally glowing at seven in the morning."

Jean, calmly stirring coffee at the machine, glanced over her shoulder. "Let him be, Peter. It’s not every day we see Kurt like this... so sunny."

Kurt took a bite of the apple, his smile growing even wider. He spun once on the chandelier before landing with a perfectly executed somersault, touching the floor lightly. His bare feet padded over to the table, and he sat next to Jean, offering the apple in a toast to no one in particular. The kitchen was peaceful — a rare moment of calm in that house full of powerful teenagers, personal issues, and interdimensional survival training.

The silence that settled between the three of them was surprisingly comfortable. There was the sound of coffee being poured, utensils against plates, and leaves brushing against the window outside. But Peter wouldn't stay quiet for long.

He leaned over the table with a sideways smirk that said I already know too much just by looking at you. "You totally had sex, didn’t you?"

Kurt almost fell off the bench. His tail whipped to the side and he choked on his own saliva, coughing violently. "W-Was?!"

Jean sighed, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Peter..."

"Oh, come on! Look at him!" Peter said, pointing as if presenting evidence in court. "The guy’s literally floating with joy! You don’t need to be a telepath to see it."

Kurt coughed again, eyes wide, and turned to Jean in desperation. "Jean, say something!"

"I'm trying to have my breakfast, Kurt," she replied with a faint smile. "And honestly? Peter’s not exactly wrong."

Kurt’s face turned red instantly. A dark blue blush climbed from his neck to his ears, the tips trembling with sheer embarrassment. "I-Ich... that’s none of your business!" he shot back, trying to hide his face in his hands, but unable to suppress the smile still tugging at his lips.

Peter let out a low, amused whistle. "So it’s true!"

"It’s none of your business!" Kurt repeated, trying to maintain some dignity. He crossed his arms and muttered something in German that probably wasn’t very polite.

"Look at that, our little blue elf’s all grown up," Peter teased, grabbing more pancakes.

Jean took a sip of her coffee and rolled her eyes lightly. "You know if you keep teasing him, you’re going to get teleported into the pool, fully dressed, right?"

Peter grinned with that defiant sparkle in his eyes. "Worth it."

Kurt huffed, still visibly blushing, but the light in his eyes remained, steady as the morning sun streaming through the window. His body still felt light, his chest warm, his heart dancing a happy rhythm.

Just when Kurt thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, the unmistakable sound of steady footsteps echoed down the hallway. The calm stride, the silent presence, and the faint shadow of wings projected on the wall were enough to make Kurt’s heart stop for half a second.

Warren walked into the kitchen looking relaxed, his blonde hair tousled from sleep and wearing a gray t-shirt that fit far too well on his toned frame. He yawned as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, not even noticing the eyes that followed him.

Or rather, one particular pair of eyes.

Kurt felt his face burn. If he was blushing before, now he looked ready to spontaneously combust. He even tried to look away, but when Warren shot him a brief smile — that lazy, yet kind smile — it was like his brain had melted.

Peter raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with almost demonic glee. That was all he needed. He stood from his chair and casually walked up to Warren, leaning dramatically on his shoulder like they were old war buddies.

"So," he began in the most affected tone ever, "how do you feel?"

Warren blinked, confused. "What...?"

"Was it quick?" Peter continued with the audacity of a comet. "Because honestly, I figured it might be, seeing as Kurt is basically the living embodiment of angelic purity."

Kurt choked so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. "Peter!" he shrieked, voice high and wild with horror. His tail curled tightly around his waist in a reflexive wave of shame.

Jean rolled her eyes again, as if already accustomed to the morning chaos. "Peter, for the love of God."

Warren raised an eyebrow, glancing between Peter and Kurt — who was now slumped in his seat, trying to hide behind his cereal bowl.

"Did I miss something?" the blonde asked calmly, though there was a subtle teasing tone in his voice. The corner of his lips tugged into an almost imperceptible smile.

Peter turned to him like a talk show host. "Oh, we were just discussing how our favorite little blue elf showed up floating this morning with a suspicious glow and a joy that not even Jean could contain with telepathy."

Warren let out a quiet chuckle, crossing his arms as he looked directly at Kurt. "Is that so?" he said, in a tone almost conspiratorial. "How curious..."

"I... I didn’t say anything!" Kurt tried to defend himself, his German accent stronger than usual. "They just... started assuming things!"

"But you didn’t deny it," Jean muttered, not even looking up from her coffee.

"Jean!"

She gave a faint smile. "Sorry, Kurt, it was irresistible."

Peter gave Warren two proud pats on the shoulder. "Well, if you ever need tips for next time, I’ve got a treasure trove of highly questionable knowledge."

"I’m going to teleport you into the Black Lake if you don’t shut up!" Kurt threatened, finally standing up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Still worth it!" Peter called out before vanishing in a silver blur down the hallway, laughing like a maniac.

Warren walked up to Kurt with slow, confident steps. He stopped beside him and, in a gentle gesture, placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to speak quietly, "Are you okay?"

Kurt nodded with a sheepish but sincere smile. "Yeah... just a little... exposed."

Warren chuckled softly. "They’ll forget. Or at least stop talking about it in a week."

"You're being optimistic."

"And you’re being adorable when you blush like that," Warren teased, pressing a soft kiss to Kurt’s temple, who practically turned to jelly right then and there — in front of Jean.

Jean just raised her mug and muttered, "This is going to last for months."

But no one really seemed to mind. Because between jokes, embarrassment, and cold pancakes, that was the messy — and wonderful — way of life at Xavier’s Mansion.

"Mission ahead, all to the X-Jet," Charles’ voice rang clearly in each of their minds, echoing through the hallway like an inevitable call.

Peter let out a loud groan, throwing his arms in the air. "Man, just when I was about to eat my cake..." he mumbled, pouting so dramatically that even Scott rolled his eyes.

"You’re always eating something, Peter," commented Ororo, already standing with the impeccable posture of someone who was always ready for anything. "You don’t even look like a speedster. You’re going to get slow."

"Hey! That’s prejudice against super metabolism," he replied, stuffing one more bite of cake in his mouth before disappearing in a silver blur down the hall.

As everyone rushed around, grabbing gear, jackets, and saying quick goodbyes to the peaceful morning, Warren stayed by the kitchen door. He wasn’t officially an X-Man — not yet — and it left him with a strange feeling of being between two worlds — part of the team, but also not.

Kurt approached him with light steps, his features carrying that subtle glow of energy and nervousness that always came before a mission. But now there was something more — something new — a fresh intimacy between them that made every goodbye a little harder.

Warren offered him a soft, warm smile, full of meaning. "Good luck," he said gently.

Kurt nodded with a more restrained smile. "I’ll be back soon," he replied, and then, with the ease of someone who no longer wanted to hide how he felt, leaned in for a quick, sweet kiss. Their lips touched for just a few seconds, but it was enough for Warren to close his eyes briefly, soaking in the moment.

Peter reappeared at the door with surgical timing. "If this is gonna take long, get a room already," he said in a mocking voice, a mischievous grin on his face as he crossed his arms.

Kurt snorted, looking away, but the faint smile gave away that he wasn't really angry. "You need to learn the meaning of the word privacy, Peter."

"I've read about it. Sounds boring," he said, winking before taking off once again at supersonic speed, leaving only a swirl of papers in the hallway.

Warren sighed, still looking at Kurt. "Be careful out there."

"I always am." But as he said that, Kurt paused for a second and looked at him more intently. "But now... I have even more reasons to come back safe."

Warren lowered his gaze briefly, moved by the words, but also by that old fear of losing something that had barely begun.

Kurt stepped away slowly, walking toward the others, and before disappearing down the hallway, he turned around with his tail curling gently behind him. "Wait for me to finish breakfast?"

"With cake?"

"With everything."

And then, with a bamf of sulfur and bluish light, he vanished from sight. Warren stood there for a few seconds, alone, with a faint smile on his face. For the first time in a long while, he felt a warmth in his chest that didn’t come from fear, or adrenaline.

It came from hope.

Chapter Text

As the X-Men departed for yet another mission, the sound of the jet faded in the sky until it disappeared completely. The silence that followed was welcoming, almost rare at the Mansion. Warren watched the clear blue sky as he walked slowly through the garden. The gentle breeze played with his blond hair, and he felt that familiar itch on his back—the urge to fly. To stretch his wings without worrying about stares, with no one around.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the leather tighten slightly as his metallic wings unfurled. The metal gleamed under the sun, reflecting silvery tones across the lawn. But before he could beat his wings and launch into the air, a voice echoed softly in his mind, with the calm firmness he already knew.

"Warren, could you come to my office?"

He blinked, his muscles tensing slightly. Charles.

Warren sighed quietly and folded his wings slowly, as if being pulled away from an intimate moment. Angel wings or not, there was no escaping the most powerful telepath in the world.

On the way into the Mansion, his mind fired off involuntary thoughts. Did he find out something? Did I do something wrong? Are they going to kick me out? His jaw clenched and relaxed as he walked through the long, familiar corridors. The voice returned, gentler:

"It’s nothing bad, I must say."

Warren rolled his eyes briefly but said nothing aloud. He didn’t like the feeling of someone inside his head, even though he’d gotten somewhat used to it. Still... Charles Xavier knew how to be respectful—to a point.

When he opened the office door, he found the Professor exactly as he imagined: behind the large polished wooden desk, with stacks of books, a cup of tea to the left, and a serene, almost paternal gaze. The light from the window softly illuminated the room, creating a comfortable atmosphere.

"My conversation with you will be brief," Charles began, intertwining his fingers on the desk. "I’d like to know how you’ve been feeling here at the school. About your adaptation, in short."

Warren remained standing for a moment, observing the surroundings as if searching for an escape route—but soon relaxed his shoulders and spoke with honesty, direct and raw as was his way.

"Well... I guess... Kurt’s here. So there’s nothing else I could want."

There was a pause. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was contemplative. Charles smiled, one of those calm smiles, almost as if he’d already anticipated that answer.

"I’m glad to hear that," he said, with genuine softness. "Not only for your honesty, but for the fact that you’ve found something—someone—that gives meaning to your new start. Many here take years to find that kind of... direction."

Warren nodded but didn’t reply immediately. He walked to the window, looking out at the lawn where he’d been minutes before, and spoke without turning his face.

"I know I still have a lot to sort out... my past wasn’t pretty. Or heroic. And I know there are people here who’ll never fully trust me." He took a deep breath. "But with Kurt... it’s different. He looks at me like he doesn’t see a monster."

Charles stayed silent for a few moments, respecting the weight of those words. Then he said, "Kurt has a gift that few possess. He sees the best even in the darkest parts of someone. It’s no wonder so many admire him."

"He’s strong," Warren said, now turning to Charles. "Much more than he seems. And I want to stay here. Not just for him... but for me too. For the first time, I’m starting to feel like I deserve this place."

Charles gave a slight nod, satisfied. "And you do, Warren. It just takes time. We all have our shadows—the important thing is what we do with them."

Warren looked at his own hands, which had been weapons so many times. Then he looked at the door. "Can I go?"

"Of course. And Warren..." Charles called before he crossed the threshold. "...don’t forget you also have wings to lift yourself back up. Use them wisely."

Warren paused for a moment, absorbing those words, and then nodded silently. When he left the office, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

And this time, walking through the corridor toward the open sky of the garden, he felt that he would fly not to escape... but to belong.

Warren returned to the garden, the soft sound of the wind wrapping around his body like an invisible blanket. But, contrary to his initial intention, he didn’t fly. He simply let himself fall slowly onto the green grass, sitting with his legs stretched out, wings half-open behind him like a living sculpture of a resting angel.

He leaned back, supporting himself on his hands, and lifted his face toward the clear sky. The sun poured over his skin like liquid gold, warming the coldness of the metal covering his back. His eyes closed for a few seconds. It was strange to feel peace. Strange... but good. For a moment, just for a moment, he allowed himself to exist without carrying the burden of everything he had done—or lost.

Some younger students were crossing the garden, running and laughing, until the laughter began to fade. One or two hurried away, others just stopped in their tracks, wide-eyed and staring at him. He knew. He knew what they were thinking. Metallic wings. Serious gaze. Body covered in scars. The name “Archangel” still whispered through the school halls like a dangerous legend.

But he didn’t care.

The only gaze he cared about was Kurt’s—and that gaze saw him with love. Acceptance. Hope. That was enough.

Warren lowered his head, watching his fingers play with a fallen leaf. The world seemed quiet... until it wasn’t.

A scream tore through the air, sharp and desperate.

He stood up immediately, his eyes turning toward the source of the sound. A group of kids, farther away, was pointing upward with panic in their eyes. Voices mixed in a chaotic burst of childish exclamations.

"She’s gonna fall!"

"Somebody help!"

"The sky! Look up!"

Warren raised his eyes. A girl—small, maybe nine or ten years old—was plummeting from the sky like dead weight. Her arms flailed in the air in pure desperation, her hair whipping wildly around her face.

She must have teleported too high. Maybe a powers accident. Or a prank gone wrong.

It wasn’t his mission.

It wasn’t his job.

No one was telling him to do anything.

But he was already standing.

Already flying.

His metallic wings opened with a crash that made the group of children shrink back, wide-eyed. Warren shot upward in an explosion of speed, the sound of the wind roaring in his ears. The world below became a blurry smear. All he saw now was her—the child in free fall, spinning, screaming.

He stretched his body like an arrow. The air sliced against his face, and his muscles strained against the brutal resistance of gravity. Every second felt eternal.

Faster.

Faster!

And then—impact. Not against the ground, but against the girl’s light body, which collapsed into his arms like a limp doll. Warren wrapped her with one arm and adjusted the flight with a strong beat of his wings, twisting his body midair to soften the descent.

The girl sobbed, clinging to him like a terrified child grabs onto a parent. Her hands clutched Warren’s shirt tightly, and her small body shook with adrenaline and fear. He descended slowly, landing with firmness and grace, kneeling carefully as he set her down on the ground.

The group of kids ran over, some still too shocked to speak. The girl was quickly enveloped in the arms of an older friend.

"You... you saved her," one of the boys murmured.

Warren just took a deep breath. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground for a second, as if trying to process what had just happened.

"She got lucky," he said quietly. "That could’ve been... worse."

That could’ve been me, years ago, and no one would’ve come.

He stood up silently, stepping back a bit as the children gathered around their friend. His wings folded with a soft metallic slide. He lifted his face to the sky again. His heart still raced, and part of him trembled—but not from fear.

From purpose.

Warren smiled to himself, calmer than he had been in a long time.

Kurt would be proud.

And just for that... it was already worth it.

----^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^----

Warren stood in front of the large bedroom window, his gaze lost in the reddish sky of late afternoon. The reflection on the glass showed his pensive, almost melancholic expression, while the last rays of sun cast soft shadows along the edges of his metallic wings.

The X-Jet had landed a few minutes ago, the sound of the engines still echoing in his memory. He had seen it appear on the horizon and land smoothly, like a silent predator returning from a hunt. When Kurt descended from the aircraft and ran inside the mansion, the lightness in his step and the breathless smile on his face made Warren feel something warm in his chest. Kurt barely entered the room, left a brief but full-of-affection kiss on his lips, and disappeared into the bathroom with the same speed.

Now, Warren was still there, motionless by the window, absorbed in his own thoughts.

The image of the little girl falling from the sky—the wide eyes, the scream cutting through the air, the absolute panic—played again in his mind like a silent, constant film. The weight of her small body in his arms. The girl’s trembling. The desperate grip of those tiny fingers. She could have died. If he hadn’t been there... if he hadn’t acted...

His fists closed slowly, muscles tensing. It wasn’t about heroism. It wasn’t about recognition. It was about responsibility. About redemption. About the simple, brutal, silent truth that he could have done more, years ago, and didn’t. But today, for the first time in a long time, he did.

"Warren?"

Kurt’s soft and familiar voice broke the silence delicately, like a breeze touching the surface of a lake.

Warren blinked, returning to reality, only now noticing the other’s presence in the room. A light scent of soap and steam still lingered in the air, coming from the bathroom, and droplets of water still ran from Kurt’s dark curls. He wore an old, oversized T-shirt, probably Warren’s, hanging loose on his slender frame.

"The Professor said you saved a little girl today," Kurt said, slowly approaching from behind. His blue hands touched Warren’s arms gently, and he rested his head on Warren’s shoulder, hugging him calmly, as if that simple gesture could anchor him to that moment.

"She was going to die," Warren replied in a whisper, as if still trying to convince himself that all of it had really happened. "She... fell from the sky. No one was there. I saw the panic in her eyes, and all I could think was... someone had to do something."

Kurt closed his eyes, tightening the hug, feeling Warren’s cold wings vibrating slightly with the emotion he was trying to contain.

"You did," Kurt murmured. "And you did it fast. Did it right. Did it beautifully."

There was a pause.

Warren took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sky was beginning to darken, stained with purple and orange hues. His heart felt heavy, but at the same time... lighter than before.

"She cried so much, Kurt. And still... she hugged me. Looked at me like I was... I don’t know, something good. That still feels strange. Being seen like that."

"But you are good," Kurt said, voice full of certainty. "Even when you try to hide it. Even when you pretend you don’t care, that you’re indifferent. I see you, Warren. And now she does too."

Warren turned his face slightly, just enough to feel Kurt’s damp curls brush against his cheek. His eyes met Kurt’s in the window reflection, and for a moment, there was no memory of the past, no fear of the future. Just that moment, suspended in time.

Kurt smiled slowly, with that small, honest smile that made the world seem less cruel.

"You should fly with her again someday," he suggested in a soft, almost mischievous tone. "I think she’d like to see the sky... without fear."

Warren laughed softly. A rough, but genuine sound.

"Yeah, maybe I should."

Kurt stepped back just enough to turn Warren to face him, pulling him gently by the shirt. They stood there, face to face, and for a few seconds neither said anything. They didn’t need to. Kurt’s gaze said it all. Pride, affection, love.

"You smell like rain," Warren commented, his voice slightly hoarse, the playful tone hiding the still-raw emotion he felt.

"You smell like... sky," Kurt replied with a wide smile, leaning in to give him a light kiss on the lips.

Warren returned it slowly, his fingers touching Kurt’s hips with tenderness. When they parted, he rested his forehead against Kurt’s and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank you for being here," he murmured.

"I always will be," Kurt answered, without hesitation.

Outside, night finally fell, and in the comfortable silence that settled, only the sound of metallic wings folding echoed through the room.

Chapter Text

"I'm telling you, Peter, this is a terrible idea," said Scott, crossing his arms with that expression that clearly meant this can only go wrong.

"Come on, it won't be that bad," Peter replied, waving his hands in the air dramatically. "It's gonna be epic!"

"I'm absolutely certain it's going to be a disaster," added Kurt, hanging upside down from a thick tree branch, his tail swaying lightly from side to side. His golden eyes shimmered with genuine concern.

"But how did you agree to this?" he asked, twisting his head in an acrobatic motion to stare at Warren, who was watching the scene with a slightly bored expression, arms crossed and wings partially open.

"You told me to be more social," Warren replied in a neutral, almost sarcastic tone, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, being social doesn’t mean going along with Peter’s suicidal ideas! Look at this plan! Look closely! It’s... stupid!" exclaimed Kurt, throwing his hands into the air — or rather, downward, since he was upside down.

"It’s brilliant!" said Peter, eyes gleaming, clearly unfazed by his friends’ disapproval. He turned to the group with fiery enthusiasm, making a grand gesture with his arms. "Picture this: me running in the air, breaking the sound barrier, space, reality!"

"You want Warren to fly you up and drop you at a ridiculous height so that, if you run fast enough, you can literally run through the air like you do on water," said Jean, finally speaking up with a tone of sheer disbelief. She was sitting on a nearby rock, watching it all like someone witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

"See? Brilliant!" Peter repeated, pointing at her as if he had just made an irrefutable argument.

"And if anything goes wrong, bird boy here catches me," Peter added, giving Warren's wing a light tap. "Right?" he said, turning to him with an overconfident grin.

Warren let out an unenthusiastic "hm", his gaze drifting to the sky. Peter, however, clearly took that as a yes.

"Perfect!" said Peter, clapping once and starting to stretch his arms and legs as if he were about to run a multiversal marathon. "This is gonna be historic! Someone film it, please!"

"I'm not recording anything that could be used as legal evidence later," murmured Scott, already imagining the report he'd have to write if this went south. "Dear Professor Xavier, today Peter Maximoff decided to play Icarus..."

"He plays Icarus every time he sprints down the hallway at 300 miles per hour," said Jean, sighing and massaging her temples. "But this... this is a new level."

"You’re gonna catch him, right?" Kurt whispered to Warren, sitting upright on the branch, tail already coiled for balance. "Like... if it goes wrong?"

"If it goes wrong?" Warren repeated, calm and cold. "It will go wrong."

Peter was lightly bouncing in place, full of excitement. "C’mon, let’s go! Take me up, angel boy!"

"You call me 'angel' now and you’ll be screaming 'demon' when you're plummeting from the sky," Warren muttered, fully spreading his wings. The metallic sound of the movement echoed through the open field as he crouched and let Peter climb onto his back like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Whoa, your balance is solid," Peter commented as he adjusted himself. "You used to carry other boys on your back?"

Warren shot him a death glare over his shoulder.

"Okay, okay, bad joke. Going up!" Peter said with a nervous smile.

The flap of wings was powerful. In seconds, they were airborne, climbing higher as the others watched from below with expressions that ranged from curiosity, to agony, to resigned boredom.

"Peter, you remember the plan, right?" Warren shouted over the wind.

"Yup! You drop me, I run like my life depends on it — which it will — and then I break physics and revolutionize airborne sprinting!" Peter shouted back, clearly way too excited.

"Great. Just don’t scream in my ear," Warren replied, slowing down with a graceful spin.

"And here we go!" Peter exclaimed.

"You go," Warren corrected him — and then let go.

For a moment, there was silence.

Peter plummeted at insane speed… and then his feet touched nothing.

But instead of falling straight down, there was a brief second of momentum. A step on the air like it was solid water.

"IT WORKS! IT WOOORKS!! I’M RUNNING ON—"

Peter fell.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Warren had anticipated this. His wings cut through the sky with precision, diving down and catching Peter seconds before he turned into silver mush.

The two crashed into the lake, water exploding around them in a bright burst of droplets and foam.

Moments later, Warren emerged from the water with Peter in his arms, soaked and coughing.

"You almost ran on air," said Warren, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I almost died," Peter said, laughing like it was the best day of his life. "That was awesome!"

Up on the shore, Kurt flopped onto the grass, covering his face with both hands.

"I give up," he muttered. "There is no peace while that man is alive."

Jean, with a subtle smile, simply commented, "I’m starting to think Peter’s greatest mutation is stubbornness."

Scott snorted, looking down at the two soaking wet figures in the lake.

"And people wonder why I’m always stressed."

Kurt replied with a simple, "Because you live near a Peter."

Still holding Peter like a dripping, noisy package, Warren looked up and sighed deeply.

"You’re gonna want to do that again, aren’t you?"

Peter coughed, then grinned from ear to ear. "Maybe. Next time from higher."

Warren closed his eyes for a second, muttering:

"My sins are being punished in real time."

Then came the soft yet firm voice, echoing directly in their minds, carrying that calm authority only Charles Xavier could project:

"X-Men, to the X-Jet. Now."

The words sliced through the air like a silent blade. Movement began immediately. Jean stood up with a sigh and a determined look. Scott was already heading toward the Mansion entrance, fists clenched and eyes focused. Peter whined about not finishing his snack — even though he’d eaten seven in two minutes — before vanishing in a silver blur.

Warren, however, stayed behind, standing under the shade of a nearby tree, watching the urgency around him with quiet detachment. His eyes drifted to the Mansion’s entrance just as Kurt ran back out, hair still damp from his shower, and hugged him quickly.

"You always get so quiet at times like this," Kurt murmured, giving him a quick kiss, fingers brushing the feathers of one wing. Warren didn’t answer with words — just tilted his head slightly, accepting the gesture.

Then Charles’s voice echoed again, this time clear and directed:

"You too, Warren."

Warren blinked, frowning. He looked around like he might see the professor hiding somewhere in the garden. He raised his eyebrows, confused.

"What?" he said aloud, the word nearly lost in the afternoon breeze.

"You want me to... go on the mission?" he said, surprised, like he must’ve misheard.

"Yes," Charles replied calmly. "I’ve arranged a uniform for you, until you can personalize your own. It’s in your room."

Warren was silent for a few seconds. The wind rustled softly, stirring his open wings. He didn’t quite know how to feel. Since arriving at the Mansion, everything had been a blur — training, suspicious looks, whispers in the halls. He kept to himself, focusing only on healing, staying upright… not on being part of the team.

"You’re coming on a mission with us!" said Kurt, grinning from ear to ear. He looked so excited it was almost contagious.

But Warren didn’t share the enthusiasm.

"But... this is gonna be bad," he muttered, eyes dropping, body tense. "People won’t want to be saved by me."

The words came out with more bitterness than he intended, but they were true. He knew those looks. He knew how people saw him. Even among mutants, he was the guy who fought for Apocalypse. The enemy. The weapon. The one who destroyed more than he saved.

Kurt’s smile softened. He stepped closer until they were side by side.

"You’re not that guy anymore," he said quietly, voice firm. "You made bad choices, yes. But who hasn’t?"

"Not like that," Warren replied, almost like he was talking to himself. "I hurt people, Kurt. With my hands. With my... wings."

"You also saved people. Today, even. That little girl, remember?" Kurt touched his arm gently, his tail curling around Warren’s ankle like a quiet plea. "And now you’ll save even more. You’ve got a chance that many never get. A chance to start over."

Warren took a deep breath, chest rising and falling with weight.

"It won’t be easy," he said, calmer now. "They’ll look at me and remember..."

"That you had metal wings, fought against us, and fell from the sky like an avenging angel?" Kurt interrupted with a small grin, trying to ease the tension. "Yes. And they’ll also remember that you’re here now. That you stayed. That you want to do what’s right."

"It’s easier said than felt," Warren replied, still unsure.

Kurt stepped forward, right in front of him, and held his face with both hands. His golden eyes locked onto Warren’s with intensity.

"You’re already part of this. You just need to believe it too."

Warren held the gaze for a moment, then gave the faintest nod. He looked back toward the Mansion, where the others were getting ready. A uniform. A mission. A chance.

"I’ll go change," he said at last, his wings twitching in a nervous reflex.

Kurt smiled again, gentler this time.

"I’ll see you in the hangar."

And before Warren could say anything, he vanished with another bamf, leaving behind the smell of sulfur and the certainty that, even if Warren wanted to run away, it was already too late.

He looked up at the still blue sky and let out a deep sigh. Part of him wanted to stay right there, frozen in place. The other part... wanted to see the uniform.

Maybe it was truly time to fly with a different purpose.

Warren quickly changed into the uniform Charles had left in his room. It was tight, black, with dark blue details that matched the tone of his wings. As soon as he arrived at the X-Jet, all eyes turned to him.

"Look who's suited up," Peter teased with a mischievous smile, throwing himself onto one of the jet's seats.

Kurt's face was completely red, his eyes darting between the floor and Warren as if he didn't know where to look. He bit his lower lip slightly, trying to hold back a smile.

"You better wear something less tight or this elf here is gonna have a heart attack," joked Jubilee, laughing while crossing her arms. Kurt shot her an indignant look, his ears twitching slightly.

"Enough joking. We have a mission," Raven said seriously, staring at the panel in front of her.

The X-Jet took off with a mechanical roar, slicing through the sky. Charles communicated mentally with everyone while Jean relayed the mission data through the system:

"A scientific facility has been invaded by a group of extremist mutants. They believe the technology developed there can be used to manipulate genetic mutations. We have civilians trapped and hostages. The enemy is hostile."

"The mission will be infiltration and rescue. We have no room for error," Raven added, turning to face them. "And Warren... this will be your baptism by fire."

Warren just nodded, his wings slightly contracting on his back. His heart was pounding, but he remained calm. Kurt approached slowly, squeezing his hand for a moment, saying nothing. That gesture was enough.

The jet landed in a clearing near the facility. Tall trees surrounded the modern, heavily guarded structure. Scott took the lead, as always.

"Jean, give us thermal vision. Peter, you circle around and find a quick entrance. Kurt, teleport civilians as soon as we locate them. Raven and Jubilee, with me on the front line. Warren, you'll be in the sky. We need eyes and aerial support."

"Understood," said Warren, his wings opening with a metallic and elegant sound.

The fight began within seconds.

Explosions echoed as the rebel mutants realized the X-Men were there. The team split into formation. Warren flew high, dodging projectiles, diving in surgical attacks. With his sharp wings, he disarmed enemies with impressive precision, cutting weapons and creating openings for others to act.

Kurt appeared in several places at once, teleporting small groups of civilians out of danger with his bamf. His quick appearances and disappearances confused the enemies.

On the ground, Peter took down several rebels before they even realized what was happening. "Not bad, bird! Keep it up!" he shouted to Warren as he zipped past like a blur.

Warren didn’t respond, focused. On one roof, he saw two civilians surrounded. He dove vertically like a war angel. Wings spread, eyes shining. He landed hard, pushing two enemies away before wrapping the civilians with his wings and taking off again.

On the ground, Raven threw blows with controlled brutality, while Jean blocked telekinetic attacks. Scott led with tactical focus, destroying obstacles with his optic blasts.

Suddenly, an explosion threw Jubilee against a pillar. She screamed. Warren saw from above and dove again, gliding to stop a rebel from hitting her again. He carefully pulled her behind a metal structure.

"You okay?" he asked, serious.

"You really are an X-Man," she said, breathless, smiling.

The mission lasted almost an hour. When the last civilian was rescued and the enemies subdued, Charles spoke in their minds:

"Excellent work, X-Men. Mission accomplished."

Warren landed beside Kurt, exhausted, sweat matted his hair to his forehead. Kurt jumped on him, wrapping him in a tight hug, smiling.

"You were amazing! I saw everything!"

"I just... did what I had to do," Warren said, still catching his breath.

"You chose to do it. That’s what makes you one of us," Kurt said, pressing his forehead to Warren’s for a brief moment.

Raven crossed her arms, watching the two.

"Welcome to the team," she said seriously, but with a small smile at the corner of her lips.

And for the first time, amidst the chaos and adrenaline, Warren felt he was part of something bigger. Something good. He was no longer just a survivor, or a cage fighter. He was an X-Man.