Chapter Text
From your vantage point on the balcony, the world appeared distant and intimately close. The cigarette in your hand, its ember glowing softly, was a ritual, a brief escape from the whirlwind of thoughts and memories that swirled within you.
You often found solace in these moments of stillness, where the city’s rhythm became a backdrop to your internal landscape. The city, with its bustling streets and towering buildings, was both a friend and a stranger. Growing up in foster care had left you with a fragmented sense of belonging, and the cigarette was a small anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Each drag was a pause, a breath amid a life that had often spiralled out of control. Your search for solace was a constant, a thread woven through the fabric of your life.
Despite the challenges of growing up in the system, shuttling in and out of foster care, you remained resilient. The absence of a family, the mystery of your origins, and the note your mother left behind were all obstacles you faced with determination. You refused to let these circumstances define you.
The note your mother left behind was a stark reminder of your beginnings, a solitary piece of paper with just a name—a name that had been both a gift and a burden. It was a marker of your existence, but it had never been more than a name to you, a label without the context of a family or a past. This struggle with your identity was a close companion, a weight that you carried with you every day. When your gifts first made their presence known at the age of eleven, you naively thought that you were cursed, evil in a way. But as you grew, you learned to accept and understand your unique abilities, and in doing so, you found a sense of reconciliation within yourself. No one’s been your knight in shining armour.
Now, it's just you and Amera. Amera, your loyal friend, has been by your side for as long as you can remember. It feels as though fate intervened to keep you together because you were blessed to remain by each other’s side regardless of the tumbles and jumbles that came with being in the system. Her presence has been a source of comfort and strength, a reminder that you are not alone. She made life tolerable. As you approached the age of eighteen, the looming threat of being cast out into the world became all too real. They were forced to jump between shelters that were filled with misplaced characters who struggled with mental health, addictions, or both.
It wasn’t until you had grown fed up with the uncertainties that you decided to take things into your own hands. The world had been unfair and harsh towards you, so you figured it wouldn’t matter how you would tip the scale to your favour. The apartment that you and Amera occupied had been a steal— literally. Amera didn’t know how you pulled it off; at barely twenty-one, you lacked the financial means typically required to secure a two-bedroom apartment in the bustling core of New York City. No one would’ve rented to two young girls with only their high school degrees and part-time minimum-wage jobs. From the moment you set your sights on that apartment, you began weaving a careful narrative to implant in his mind. You spoke confidently about your ability to pay rent, highlighting your financial stability and reliability. You were adept at using your power to play with the landlord’s mind, subtly assuring him of your dependability without stating it outright. And it worked.
Years later, your ability continues to solidify your place within the building. You hadn’t had to pay rent since entering the apartment. Some minds were more docile than others. But with practice, no one’s consciousness was unmalleable given the right amount of force and will. Logan was the first to prove that theory wrong.
“I thought you said that you quit.” A voice emerged from behind you, causing you to jump.
“It’s my last pack,” you countered.
“So you say,” Amera responded with a laugh. She joined you on the balcony with her mug, knowing it was green tea in contrast to your black instant coffee. Her long red curls wildly framed her freckled face, and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She resembled a quirky librarian. Amera sat beside you and continued, “I’m surprised you are up this early; I was just getting ready for my clinical rotation.” She’s in the last year of her nursing program. When she told you about her ambition to go into healthcare, you had convinced her to go forward with it, and you’d “take care” of the rent. Amera remained unaware of how you managed this acquisition. You suspected that Amera thought you did sex work on the side to afford your lifestyle.
Although you loved Amera dearly, you had never trusted anyone enough to expose your mutant identity, not since you had first discovered what you were truly capable of.
The presence of mutants is not widely accepted in society; there has been increasing news coverage about the need to control x-gene humans. It wasn’t lost on you that the incident with Logan last night may have left you exposed.
“Hello?” Amera waved her hand in front of your face, taking you out of your daze. “You okay? It was like your mind went to a different planet.” Her brows were furrowed as she analyzed your face.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you replied, shaking off the lingering unease. “I just didn’t sleep well last night. I got in late from the bar 'cause Wade was fucking around instead of helping me close.” You rolled your eyes as you recounted Wade’s words of wisdom. Amera raised her eyebrows at that.
“Wade again, huh? I swear that guy’s more trouble than he’s worth. I swear to God, if he’s the reason you’ve been more on edge lately–”
You shrugged, attempting to brush off her concern. “Tell me about it. It’s just been a hectic week, that’s all. It’s nothing I can’t handle, I promise.” you grumbled before taking another pull of your cigarette.
Amera studied you for a moment, her concern evident. “If you need to talk about it…”
“Thanks, Amy. You know I always bounce back eventually, but we can talk later when it’s not 5 in the morning.” You appreciated her offer; it was just like her wanting to shield you away from the pain of the world, but you weren’t ready to tell her the truth. And a part of you was unsure if you ever would be.
She nodded, accepting your answer. “Well, I’m off to my rotation. If you need anything, text me. And maybe try to get some rest. You look like you could use it.” As Amera left, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. Her concern was genuine, but you couldn’t afford to let anyone see your vulnerabilities, especially not with the increasing scrutiny on mutants and the recent incident with Logan weighing heavily on your mind.
Your thoughts raced as you recounted last night. Logan’s reaction had been unsettling. It was a rare occurrence, and it left you questioning whether your abilities were waning or if something about Logan made him particularly impervious. Is it possible that he was a mutant as well? You hadn’t met another person like yourself before, but of course, he might have had the ability to be unaffected by the powers of others– a walking shield of some sort. If that were the case, then you wouldn’t have to worry. Both of you would be on the same page. You’re delusional. It wasn’t as if you could assume that the man had supernatural abilities, nor was there a safe way to weasel the information out of him without explicitly exposing yourself.
The hesitation in his demeanour proved it feasible to get ahold of his mind. He seemed intrigued but ultimately chose to leave. That was the issue; Logan could still choose to listen to your persuasion. If you possessed the gift of reading minds, you probably wouldn’t have lost as much sleep over this. Perhaps it was time to reassess your approach. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to keep a low profile and act as if yesterday hadn’t happened. The second best thing to your power of persuasion and thought projection was gaslighting. Deny and repeat. It was the best option until you could find a way to convince Peter to switch your schedule. You’d learned to play the role of a cheerful bartender well, and now it was time to use those skills to deflect any probing questions. You would need to be more cautious, especially with the growing risks associated with using your powers. The last thing you needed was for someone to become suspicious, or worse, to attract unwanted attention. You’ve gotten comfortable before, but as you've gotten older, blaming your ability to get your way on luck was no longer an option. It was time to be more vigilant.
You had spent the day cleaning around the apartment and picking at the leftovers Amera had left for you. Your body was fidgeting, and it was impossible to sit still whenever you were nervous. Glancing at the time, it was best that you began to get ready before you were late for your closing shift at the bar. You studied your reflection, noting the weariness etched into your features. Amera was right. You needed to get some rest. Coffee and cigarettes weren’t doing your appearance any favours. By the time you were done applying your makeup, no one would suspect a thing. It was days like today; you’re grateful to wear a uniform. It made preparing for work that much easier. Female bartenders at Whiskey Whispers must wear the navy blue logo shirt that is snug and form-fitting with a low v-cut to compliment your blooming cleavage. They were accompanied by high-waisted black shorts that cut across your ass, making you appear more shapely than you were. It was a bit more revealing than you’d typically dress, but it was what brought in the tips. Throwing on a matching tracksuit to cover up, you grabbed your bag to head out for the subway.
Walking towards the bar, you recognized him instantly. Logan leaned against the brick beside the back entrance of Whiskey Whispers with a cigar in his mouth. He wore a leather jacket with a white wife-beater underneath and his staple Levi jeans. His hair was dishevelled, and it took all your willpower not to stare. He shouldn’t be here, not at this time. Logan usually came for a drink closer to dusk. His presence didn’t allow enough time for you to think. Quickly, you steeled your mind and remembered your plan of laying low. Picking up your pace, if you got inside the back office before you could be followed, surely everything would be fine. It wouldn’t be odd not to greet him since you weren’t clocked to work yet.
Oh, how you were wrong. Logan’s arm shot out to block the door with record speed. His sudden movement stopped you in your tracks, and you could hear your heart race as you faced the impenetrable barrier of his muscular forearm. The two of you were so close that you could inhale the heavy smoke emitted from his cigar. “Not so fast, princess.” Logan’s tone of voice was brusque but not wholly rude. He had more significant intentions than just catching up for a drink.
You licked your lips to maintain your composure as if your mouth hadn't almost run dry. “Excuse me, Logan,” you forced your words to come out casually. I need to get settled before my shift.” Logan didn’t move an inch. His gaze felt like he was attempting to burn a hole through your eyes—steady and focused.
He took a slow and significant drag from his cigar before exhaling the smoke to curl around his chest. “No problem, I just have a few questions. I promise it won't take long; we need to chat.” This wasn’t what you had anticipated. You fought the urge to panic. However, you knew how to handle this, stay calm and keep the conversation as short and sweet as possible. You could feel the presence of your powers stirring awake beneath the tranquil facade that you have shown. It wasn't safe to rely on them in a volatile situation like this in the public eye.
“Questions about what? Can’t it wait? I have to get inside before I'm late.” Your voice was steady as you feigned impatience toward the man, hoping he’d get the hint. Logan pondered what you had stated and huffed, “Alright, let’s just talk, then.” He yanked the back door open, leaving little space for you to shimmy through. “After you, princess.”
The back office was dimly lit, with lockers for workers to stash their things and old furniture that threatened to prick you with its tetanus-infected springs. The air smelled stale, and the AC hummed in the background. You needed to talk with Peter about getting the back door key card scanner fixed to avoid situations like this. Anyone could’ve entered through; the only reason no one has bothered is because of Wade’s unstable ass, some of the patrons started a rumour he got a hard-on from the thought of punching things.
Yet, that didn’t halt Logan’s determination to get a solid answer from you. His eyes narrowed as you set your things inside the locker and began to unzip your sweater to reveal the scandalous shirt. Logan hadn’t taken care of your appearance previously; he rarely kept this much eye contact in a short period. However, now he studied your every move.
“You know, I’ve been around for a while and seen my share of weird shit. And after last night, I think you’re not exactly who you seem to be,” he stated.
“Not sure what you’re getting at, Logan. I’m just a bartender, trying to make a living.” You rolled your eyes at him for extra effect.
Logan flicked the ash of his cigar on the tiled floor before returning it to his lips. “Cut the crap. I know you’ve been hiding something. You’ve got a way of making people do what you want, right?” The way that he posed the question alluded to the fact that he may have already known the answer. You were on your last resort.
“Do you hear yourself? You’re imagining things. Maybe you had one too many drinks last night. I might need to start cutting you off earlier in the night.” You forced a laugh, but it sounded fake, a bit too high-pitched to sound genuine.
Logan leant forward to be eye-level with you. You could feel his breath on your skin and couldn’t control your heart pounding. You began to break out in a sweat. Logan’s mannerisms were on the verge of being unhinged; behind his stone-cold brown eyes lay a wild side of him waiting to be unleashed. His voice was low and steady as he spoke, “I’ve dealt with enough mind games to spot a telepath when I see one. So, let’s skip pussyfooting and get to the point. What’s your deal?”
You stared back at him and remained still, although your instincts were screaming to run in the opposite direction, or worse, utilize your power with all your might to make him forget last night had ever happened. “And what if I told you that you’re wrong? What if I said I’m just good at reading people?” You gazed up at Logan through your lashes, trying to gauge his body language.
“I could hear your heart beating out of your chest. Am I making you nervous? I assure you I’m not here to play games. I know what I felt. You were messing with my head, trying to influence my decisions. You don’t do that without some power.”
Fuck. You balled your hands together in frustration and cursed under your breath. Logan wasn’t going to drop it. “So if you’re convinced I'm a mutant, why not report me? Instead, you chose to harass me at work personally.”
“I want to know who else knows about this. I don’t want any surprises. If you’re involved in something bigger, I need to know where I stand. You get me?” Logan replied without hesitation.
Ah, it began to make sense. He was worried about his safety, a secret of his own. “You’re a mutant,” you said, taking a step back, your voice steady but sharp. “You’re not exactly a stranger to mutant abilities, are you? I can sense something in you—something hidden behind that tough exterior. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you.”
Logan’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before his face hardened again. “Don’t try to flip this onto me.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” you retorted, your annoyance bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got that same intensity, that same ‘I’ve-seen-some-shit’ look that comes with being more than just a regular person. Maybe you’re trying to intimidate me to keep your abilities under wraps. Who else has tried to get into that head of yours?”
And for a moment, the tension between you was almost palpable. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but if you’re making accusations, you better have something more concrete than your gut feelings.” He didn’t care to confirm or deny your question.
“Logan, you might not be ready to admit it, but you’re hiding something,” you said, jabbing your index finger against his firm chest and feeling a surge of defiant energy. “And if you’re going to question me, maybe it’s time you looked in the mirror and confronted your own truths before someone discovers it for you.” You knew you were getting ahead of yourself, and your patience was thinning.
He grabbed your hand and held it rigidly. “You think you know what you’re talking about, huh? Just remember that you can’t access my brain. I'm immune to you and your wiles.” His tone sounded like a threat. He let go of your hand for it to fall lifelessly to your side. As Logan turned and walked away, the room seemed to settle into a heavy silence. You were left uneasy that the confrontation had only scratched the surface of deeper, more complicated truths.