Archive of Our Own

December had arrived, bringing with it the chill of winter. Just days away from Christmas, Scott could see everyone at the mansion buzzing with excitement, eager to celebrate with their families.

Bobby planned to visit his parents and spend time with them even though he wasn’t thrilled about it. Christmas at Hank’s house was always special, as he often described. Elaborate home-cooked meals and precious moments with his mother filled the air with warmth. Jean’s parents would soon come to pick her up; she mentioned they were planning a Christmas vacation.

It seemed everyone had a joyous holiday ahead. Scott was uncertain of Warren's Christmas plans. When he asked if Warren would be visiting his parents, he received only a noncommittal shrug. Scott let it drop, not wishing to uncover the truth that Warren’s parents were busy doing other things than spend time with his own son. He didn’t want to pry.

It had been just two weeks since their harrowing experience aboard a ship in the North Atlantic on the way to Europe. Scott had blasted the iceberg just in time to prevent them from sinking like the Titanic. Still not fully accustomed to using his powers at maximum capacity, Scott felt dizzy. The rocking of the waters only intensified his dizziness. He excelled in the air; ask him to execute a 90-degree dive or a nausea-inducing spin, and he’d do it effortlessly. But the sea was a different matter—rough, choppy, and unpredictable.

Warren had rushed to his side, practically half-carrying him to their room. Bobby created ice to help soothe him while Jean applied it gently with her telekinesis, knowing he didn’t like being touched much. When Scott complained of a dry mouth, Hank immediately leapt to his side, offering a glass of iced tea. For the first time, Scott realized they genuinely cared about him, and he felt a strange warmth inside. He had never had friends before, and now he had four.

“Hey.” Scott was pulled from his thoughts. Hank’s footsteps were heavy; Jean’s were light yet purposeful. Bobby shuffled hurriedly, clumsily—almost endearing. But Warren's footsteps remained a mystery. He had a knack for sneaking up on Scott. If he listened closely, he could discern Warren’s quiet, graceful steps, as if he had learned to walk in silence. It was even more impressive given that Warren could fly.

“Hi.” Scott turned to Warren, offering a faint smile. “Didn’t realize you were here. Aren’t you supposed to be off jetting somewhere?”

“Thought I’d spend the holiday here after the week we’ve had. I’d rather not see Europe again after our last mission, and that’s where my parents will be this winter--or a Caribbean island—enjoying the sun at some tropical paradise.” Warren recalled their previous mission in Europe with the Professor.

“I get it. Heh.” Scott glanced around, avoiding Warren's gaze. “But wouldn’t you prefer to be with your family?”

“They’re in Europe for a meeting. Chances are, I probably won’t see them anyway, you know?” Warren’s smile turned melancholic as he perched on the windowsill.

Just like a bird. Scott thought.

“Not like they want me there.” Warren added.

“I…understand.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck, feeling an unexpected warmth at Warren's openness. He hadn’t anticipated this, especially since they had both been vying for Jean's attention. He was supposed to dislike Warren, but instead, he found himself liking him since their mission in Europe. He’d expected Warren to be snooty, but he wasn’t. “I still have questions for the Professor.” He changed the subject.

“Like who this Lucifer is. He hasn’t told us anything about him. Strange, right?” Warren agreed, almost curious.

“Yes. How do they know each other, and what will come of it? What did the Professor mean when he said it was because of Lucifer that he couldn’t use his legs? What happened?” Scott rambled.

“Do you ever wonder what we’re doing here? Playing by his rules but not getting much information?” Warren asked honestly.

“I do. But I also think I should be grateful he gave me a home. Don’t you think?” Scott settled beside Warren.

‘And drafted us as child soldiers into a war we don’t fully understand,’ Warren thought quietly. It was not like he could tell Scott what he really thought. And the moment he would offer Scott some of his money or buy him a home, he knew his friend would not accept it. It was refreshing on one hand to have friends who didn’t care about his financial status, but also frustrating because he really wanted to help them in some way. He stood up, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing.”

Scott felt the reassuring weight of Warren’s hand on his shoulder surprisingly comforting. “What is that?”

“Since Christmas is approaching, we thought we’d spend some time together—just the five of us. There’s some hot chocolate waiting for you, Summers.” Warren grinned, the flirtatious grin usually reserved for Jean. This time, it was directed at Scott, leaving him uncertain of how to respond.

He followed Warren to the living room which was decorated with Christmas ornaments. A garland was draped over the roaring fireplace. On one corner of the room was a big Christmas tree. The biggest he had seen since Alaska. He vaguely recalled a Christmas spent with his family.

Underneath the Christmas Tree were a few boxes, neatly wrapped up with paper and bows. Above the mantle hung five stockings. The Professor had gone for a retreat, leaving them to celebrate an early Christmas with each other before they went to their homes and celebrated it with their respective families.

Scott looked around the room to check for mistletoes. Last thing he wanted was to be kissed by surprise. It gave him anxiety. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it. He’d rather plan a kiss if he did want to kiss someone. ‘Not that anyone would want to.’ He scoffed at himself.

Warren gave him a soft nudge and handed him a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows in it.

Bobby turned to them and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t the grinch joining us.” He teased Scott and made a face.

Jean glared at Bobby and turned to Scott.

“What? He’s the one who made us wake up at 5 am - today of all days - so we could practice in the danger room.” Bobby defended himself. He was grumpy because Scott had woken him up, right when he was having a nice dream.

“The bad guys won’t stop showing just because it’s the holidays, Bobby. Besides, it isn’t even Christmas.” Scott argued, not understanding why Bobby couldn’t see his point of view. They didn’t know what it was like to feel unsafe all the time. They hadn’t seen the world yet where kids jumped off buildings and died because no one would love them, where parents would abandon them, where men like Jack existed. And he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

Bobby rolled his eyes and threw a snowball towards Scott but it was promptly deflected by Hank’s hand that caught it and threw it in the fireplace. The fire sizzled until the ice evaporated.

Hank explained to Bobby, “Scott does have a point, my young friend. But-” And Hank looked at Scott this time, “Bobby’s right. You need to relax, Scott. Let Serendipity find you.”

Scott sighed and looked at Warren. “Hank’s not wrong.”

“You too?” Scott asked Warren in between taking his sip of Hot Chocolate that had coated his upper lip.

“Mhmm.” Warren looked at Scott’s milk mustache and had half a mind to wipe it off with his thumb. But that would be weird, right? Sure, he wasn’t new to this. Back in boarding School he had indulged with some of his mates. It was just for fun. Casual. Nothing serious. But now, it didn’t feel like that. Scott made things feel too real. Instead, he took Scott’s hand and scanned a place in the room. The couch still had enough space.

“Come here you two. We have plenty of room.” Jean motioned them to the couch and lifted her blanket to share it with them, as if she could read his mind.

Scott and Warren scampered to the couch. Scott sat in the middle and Warren next to him. The blanket was draped over the three of them telekinetically, thanks to Jean. Warren and Jean both scooted closer to Scott who sat stiffly.

“Relax a little, Scott.” Jean offered and wrapped her hands around his bicep.

Warren stretched his arm and placed it on the back of the couch, behind Scott’s neck. Every now and then his fingers almost brushed the nape of Scott’s neck. He had to be careful or they would know. His wings were draped over the back of the couch.

Slowly, Scott felt himself relax. The backdrop of Warren’s wings made him feel even cosier.

Scott reached for his mug of hot chocolate, savoring the warmth and sweet aroma as he took a sip, only to nearly choke as the sharp burn of alcohol hit his throat. He coughed softly, trying to hide his reaction, and cast a sidelong glance at Warren through his ruby quartz lenses. Extending the mug back to him, Scott murmured, “I think this one’s yours.”

“Oh.” Warren looked a little sheepish as he took the mug back.

From across the room, Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Wait, how’d you even know it was his?”

They all hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with each other. A true testament to his genius-and one Warren was genuinely grateful for-Hank stepped in. "Ah, Scott probably noticed the temperature difference. Warren’s has been sitting a bit longer."

Scott quickly nodded, catching on to the excuse. "Exactly. Warren’s was just a little cooler than mine."

Bobby squinted, clearly unconvinced, giving them a pointed side-eye. "If you say so," he muttered, clearly not buying what they were selling, but lost interest as quickly as he'd gained it. With a dismissive shrug, he took a sip of his own drink before wandering over to the turntable, flipping through the vinyls.

With a flick of the switch, the familiar crackle of static filled the room, followed by the opening chords of an upbeat tune. Bobby was clearly pleased with his choice as the music began to play.

As Bobby enjoyed the music and snapped his fingers to the rhythm, Warren muttered a quick thanks to Hank.

"Really, Warren?" Jean chided, arching an eyebrow. "It's not even 5 PM yet."

"It's 5 PM somewhere," Warren said sarcastically and took a sip of his spiked hot chocolate, his gaze flicking toward the window as if to avoid eye contact.

Scott glanced at Warren, sensing something was off. He had that look-the kind that suggested there was more than he was letting on. Maybe it was the holidays getting to him, or the fact that he wasn’t spending Christmas with his family.

He stayed silent, letting the music fill the gap, but then nudged Warren’s shoulder with his own as a silent acknowledgement that he was there. Warren smiled and nodded in response with another nudge.

The three of them huddled closer, shifting to fit under the blanket. Realizing it was too small to cover them all comfortably, Jean felt the chill creep in at the edges. Every time they moved, the blanket would slide off further, leaving her legs exposed to the cold. Frustrated, she sighed. She had lost the battle with the blanket. With a flick of her fingers, she levitated another blanket from across the room and dumped it between Scott and Warren’s shoulders.

“There,” she said, voice tinged with amusement. “That should do it.”

Scott chuckled, adjusting the new blanket over his shoulders. “Thanks, Jean.”

Warren draped the blanket over the both of them, the warmth pressing in around them, and he let himself enjoy it all just a little too much. As the blanket settled over their shoulders, he felt an odd tightness. Don’t, his mind whispered to him, a warning he’d heard before but always ignored. What if he isn’t?

His gaze lingered on Scott for a moment longer than necessary, watching the way his friend shifted closer to him. Warren clenched his jaw, fighting the impulse to let himself sink deeper into the moment. The warmth, the closeness, the way Scott’s presence felt so natural—it was all a dangerous temptation.

You can’t, the voice in his head insisted. It's... Scott. He’s not like that. He’s normal. Warren swallowed the ache in his throat, willing the unwanted thoughts away, and focused on the music instead.

Scott felt the warmth settle over him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. The music, the comfort of being close to his friends, the peaceful atmosphere- it all blended in a way that made him feel light, almost weightless. It was easy to forget the tension that usually gnawed at him, the constant need to stay alert, to have control.

He felt himself letting go, the walls he’d built around himself lowering, just for a moment. There was a problem. Good was dangerous. Feeling this good meant he wasn’t guarding himself, and when he wasn’t careful, that could lead to things getting out of hand.

He could feel the warmth of Warren’s shoulder against his, the soft press of their arms brushing, the shared silence. Warren so close, that it all made him feel good in a way he wasn’t used to. And good, in moments like these, could be a dangerous thing. He needed to stay alert, to keep the distance he’d always maintained. Don’t let your guard down, he told himself, but the more Warren’s warmth wrapped around him, the harder it was to listen. Because he was where he belonged. With Warren. With Jean. With Bobby. With Hank. With the Professor. With his family. 

In a rare moment of affection, one that Bobby might compare to spotting a Yeti or the Lochness Monster, Scott spoke up. "I don’t say this often, but I’m really grateful to have all of you in my life. You’re my best friends. My family."

The room went still for a moment, everyone processing the rare, sentimental words. Then, without warning, Jean, Hank, Bobby, and Warren all rushed in, pulling Scott into a tight group hug.

Bobby, grinning from ear to ear, squeezed Scott tight. "Is this real? Did I just witness Scott Summers being... sentimental? Hold on, I need a moment to process this."

Hank slapped Scott’s back with a force that nearly knocked the air out of him. "My stars! Breaking News—Scott Summers opens up. This is monumental! We should absolutely publish this, it’s akin to a scientific breakthrough! I’ll start drafting the press release: ‘Scott Summers reveals vulnerability in an unprecedented display of emotion.’"

Warren leaned in with a sweet yet mischievous smile, wrapping his arm around Scott’s waist and leaning in, hugging him tight. "I knew it. I always knew you had a soft spot for us, Scotty. It’s like finding buried treasure. I’m going to tell the world about this." He gave Scott a playful nudge. "I might even write a song about it."

Scott was pink, clearly embarrassed but secretly amused. "Oh, great. The minute I show any emotion, you all turn into a pack of emotional vampires."

Warren’s grin widened, leaning in closer. "We may be the vampires, but you’re still my favourite hero." He planted a quick, exaggerated kiss on Scott’s cheek, making him blush and snort-laugh despite himself.

Jean chuckled softly, resting her head on Scott’s shoulder. "It’s okay, Scott. We don’t need you to say it every day. We know you care."

Scott pulled away from the hug, rolling his eyes underneath his glasses. "Yeah, well... if any of you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you do a three-hour Danger Room session with me."

"Deal!" Hank responded instantly. "But only if we can make it official—you have to sign a ‘feelings contract’ now. In triplicate, of course. I’d suggest using indelible ink, just in case your emotional outburst turns out to be a one-off."

Bobby added with a grin, "And every time you say something nice, we get to hug you for at least 10 minutes."

Scott shook his head, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile, not letting go of Warren's hand which he didn't realize he had been holding. "You’re all insufferable."

But even as he grumbled, the warmth in his chest told him it was worth it.

As Scott finished muttering about their "insufferable" behavior, Jean, Hank, Bobby, and Warren exchanged knowing glances before simultaneously lunging for him again, pulling him into a second group hug.

"Hey, what did I say about the three-hour Danger Room session?" Scott protested, but his words were drowned in sweet laughter.

“Hey. Need some help?” Scott asked Warren, who was perched on a tree, looking more bird-like than ever, trying to rescue a poor cat stuck in the branches, too afraid to leap. It was the day before Christmas morning, and he had spent nearly every waking moment with his friends—aside from all the obsessive Danger Room training and planning.

“I’ve got it handled,” Warren murmured as the cat finally climbed into his hands and nestled against him, purring contentedly from the warmth. “You’re friendlier than I expected,” he added, smiling down at the cat.

“We are friends, aren’t we? What did you expect?” Scott asked, a bit confused. True, he could be aloof and distant at times, and he worried he was overstepping. But before his mind could lead him to overthink, Warren responded.

“I was talking to the cat,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “But yes, we’re friends.” He reassured Scott as he descended from the tree with the cat in his arms.

Scott felt his cheeks heat up, and he breathed out a laugh which fogged up his lenses. “Oh. Heh.” He reached out to pet the cat, rubbing its chin and head. The cat purred happily, likely enjoying the attention.

Scott noticed there was no collar, though the cat looked well-fed. He hadn’t seen any missing cat posters nearby or around town, so he wasn’t sure where it had come from. It was friendly, so maybe it was used to human company. It could have been a stray. Just like him.

They walked up to the porch. Scott opened the door, letting them in and immediately felt the welcoming heat of the house. Even though Westchester winters weren’t as harsh as Alaska’s, he still appreciated the warm feelings winter brought.

The fire was already crackling, thanks to Moira Mactaggart, the professor’s friend who had dropped by the night before while visiting New York.

“There ye are, Whiskers!” she exclaimed joyfully as the cat leapt from Warren’s arms to hers, clearly excited to see her. She kissed the cat’s forehead and looked at the two young men gratefully. “I’ve been searching for this troublemaker everywhere!”

“He was up a tree outside,” Warren replied, shooting her a pointed look. “You should be more careful. It’s snowing out there, and he could have fallen sick.”

Moira assessed him carefully and nodded. “I appreciate you lookin’ after him. This place is new to him, so finding his way around isn’t easy.”

Warren nodded, though a trace of his earlier annoyance lingered. “Just… keep a closer eye on him, alright?” His tone softened as he gave the cat one last scratch behind the ears, eliciting another rumbling purr.

Moira chuckled, tucking Whiskers securely into her arms. “Aye, I’ll make sure of it. Ye’ve a good heart, Warren.”

“Well,” Scott said, clearing his throat, “now that Whiskers is safe and sound, how about we grab some coffee?” He flashed Warren a small smile.

“Yeah, coffee sounds good,” Warren smiled back.

As they walked into the living room with their mugs, Warren gave Scott a sidelong glance. “You’re a little flushed. You aren’t coming down with the flu, are you?”

Scott laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, it’s just… well, it’s been a while since I celebrated Christmas. Even though the others went off to celebrate with their families, I’m glad you’re here, Warren.”

The memories sparked-a flare of warmth and nostalgia mixed with loss. He recalled being nine years old, the last time he had properly celebrated Christmas, right before the plane accident. His dad had come home for the holidays. He and Alex had nestled between their parents. It was one of the few memories he could recall.

Warren sat next to Scott. Closer than usual. He wrapped his arm around Scott and looked at him. Really looked at him.

Scott averted his gaze, feeling nervous. Seeing people eye to eye was difficult enough when he didn't have his powers and now with his powers, it felt impossible. However, there was nothing but comfort and love behind Warren’s gaze.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through…but, I’m really glad to be here.” He squeezed Scott’s arm and dropped his hands.

Scott’s heart raced unevenly as he stole a quick glance at Warren, his expression softening despite his usual urge to keep his guard up. “Thanks,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, unsure how to sort through the tangle of emotions. Warren’s touch lingered on his arm, and for the first time, he found he didn’t want to pull away from someone's touch.

As they sat awkwardly, Warren inched closer to the fire. His wing brushed against the edge of the table, and before he could react, the delicate glass vase tipped over and tumbled toward the flames. "Crap!" He swore, leaping to catch it, but it was already too late. The vase hit the fire with a sharp crack, splintering into jagged shards that exploded outward like fireworks.

Both of them jumped back in shock.

"Shit, Warren!" Scott shouted, his head pounding-this time from the chaos unfolding before him.

"I-I didn’t mean to!" Warren’s wings flapped wildly as he tried to shield them both. But it was too late. The shards of glass scattered in every direction, sharp as daggers. One of them shot past Warren’s face so close that his hair ruffled from the heat.

Scott’s reflexes kicked in. Instinctively, he fired an optic blast, vaporizing a shard that had been heading straight for Warren’s neck.

"Whoa—thanks!" Warren turned to Scott, but he barely had time to breathe. Another shard was rocketing toward them.

Without thinking, Warren scooped Scott up, lifting him off the ground and flying them both toward the ceiling. The glass missed them by inches, clinking harmlessly against the walls below.

"Thanks back atcha." Scott was still catching his breath.

As the last of the glass fell to the floor with a soft, tinkling sound, they both froze for a moment, processing the wreckage. The room, once Christmasy, was now a warzone of glittering glass. Ornaments still dangled from the tree, some precariously hanging at odd angles, as if they too were about to fall and join the chaos. The scent of burnt glass mixed with the fresh pine of the tree.

Scott blinked, looking around the room in disbelief. "Well, at least we didn’t start a full-on Christmas disaster... yet." He knew he was lying to himself.

Warren sighed dramatically, slowly lowering his wing, and surveyed the wreckage. "I’m pretty sure the only thing I’m getting for Christmas is a bill."

The two of them stood there in the wreckage for a few seconds, the remnants of the vase scattered at their feet. Then Scott glanced sideways at Warren. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t almost die from flying shards of glass."

"If we’re pretending, this is the part of the movie when the woman kisses the hero for saving her life," Warren quipped, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Scott snorted, crossing his arms. "Except there’s no woman to kiss."

Warren leaned casually against the edge of the couch, his wings fanning slightly for balance. "Guess Jean’s not here to claim the hero, huh?"

Scott’s mouth twitched at the mention of her name, his jaw tightening just a fraction. He nodded stiffly. "Yeah, lucky," he said in disappointment. Was he annoyed at the thought of Warren getting to kiss Jean or Jean getting to kiss Warren? He couldn’t figure it out, and that frustrated him more than the wreckage around them.

Warren watched him carefully. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, his tone as casual as he could make it. "If Jean were here... who do you think she’d kiss?"

Scott turned to him, his face betraying an unexpected flush of irritation. "You," he said bluntly, his voice clipped.

Warren blinked, genuinely startled. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Scott repeated, looking away, his arms tightening again. "You're—you know, you’re you."

"No, I don't. Elaborate."

"I mean, you’re Warren. The golden boy. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect... wings," he said, the last word coming out begrudgingly.

Warren blinked, absorbing the words, a smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth. "Perfect wings, huh? Didn’t know you were paying attention."

That’s not the point," Scott snapped, sharp enough to cut glass. 

Warren didn’t miss a beat. "Oh?"

Scott bristled, his hands clenching at his sides. "Yeah, 'oh.' It’s not like I sit around analyzing your... stupid wings or whatever," he shot back, though the rush of heat to his face betrayed him.

Warren tilted his head, his smirk tugging wider. "Sure, Summers. You’re definitely not paying attention. That’s why you called them 'perfect' just now."

Scott glared at him, "I was making a point," he muttered in defence.

"A point about how perfect I am?" Warren teased, his grin now unapologetically smug. "Because, honestly, I didn’t think you’d noticed."

Scott scoffed, turning his back to him. "You’re impossible."

Warren chuckled, but his voice softened slightly. "You know," his eyes lingered on Scott in a way that felt heavier than his usual banter, "you're perfect too."

Scott's blush deepened, "What the hell are you talking about?".

Warren paused as if he was searching for the right words. He leaned back slightly, his wings folding behind him with a soft rustle. "I’m saying if Jean were here..." He trailed off, glancing at Scott, a little more serious now. "I wouldn't want to kiss her."

Scott frowned, confusion mixing with something else-something that made his chest tighten. "What? Why wouldn't you-?"

“I don’t know. Can we-can we not talk about this? Let’s clean up.” Warren tried distracting Scott. He didn’t want to tell Scott why.  

"Uh... okay," Scott was more confused than ever because Warren didn’t particularly enjoy cleaning up.

They both began gathering the broken glass in silence, the occasional clink of shards being picked up and tossed into the trashcan, breaking the stillness. Every time Scott frowned or winced at the mess, Warren couldn’t help but imagine reaching out to smooth the furrow in Scott’s brow, maybe pressing a soft kiss on it to make him smile.

As they continued cleaning in silence, Warren couldn't ignore the way Scott kept glancing at him, his glasses-covered eyes darting away whenever their gazes almost met. Warren knew he was reading too much into it, but there was some unsaid thing that was lingering between them. Had been ever since they met. He’d often catch Scott looking at him and vice versa. He wondered if Scott was just like him. But he was afraid of asking.

Being a mutant was one thing-hell, they all knew the risks of that. But this? This was something else entirely. They weren’t just breaking rules by being mutants-they were breaking laws. Not just mutant laws. The laws of society itself. They both knew what could happen if anyone found out. They’d lose everything.

And that weight made Warren hesitate, even though he couldn’t ignore what was happening between them anymore. He was attracted to Scott. Had been since they met. Not just the way he looked, and boy did he look fine as fuck, but also, the way he was. Who he was. What he was. He liked Scott for Scott. And it would have been so much easier if his object of affection was a normal high-society girl because everyone would be okay with them.

This was driving him up the wall. Not sharing. Not telling. He wasn’t usually the type to beat around the bush. He preferred honesty. But he also didn’t want to scare Scott. Didn’t want to scare others. But he was almost sure that if Scott were not interested, he would not talk smack about him or reveal his unnatural desire to others. The last person who’d do that was Scott. Never had he heard him bad mouth anyone. Even when they all engaged in gossip, Scott stayed out of it.

When he bent over to pick up a shard, he turned around only to watch Scott stare at him. Was he imagining things because of his own feelings or was Scott fucking Summers, checking him out.

He was going to say it. Dammit, he needed to. Finally, he set the broom down with a sharp clink and turned to face Scott. The words were already halfway out of his mouth. "Scott," he said, steady but soft. "When I said I wouldn’t want to kiss Jean, It’s because I’d want to kiss you.”

Scott blinked, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His first instinct was to laugh it off, to call it a joke, but it was different this time. Warren wasn’t joking. He had been too serious. And there was something in the way Warren was looking at him.

"You..." Scott began, his mouth dry. "You’re serious?"

Warren hesitated, his gaze flicking away before he answered. "Yeah. I mean... yeah." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "I wouldn’t want to kiss Jean, because... I’d want it to be you." He repeated. Wanted to let the words sink in.

Scott worried. He couldn’t even look at Warren. He knew what this meant, what it could mean. He wasn’t completely blind. Warren was gorgeous. And if he hadn’t seen Warren sneak a peek too often whenever they were in the locker room or the gym, (and he was just as guilty), he would have thought Warren was messing with him. "You can’t... we can’t..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Being a mutant was dangerous enough, but this? This was another level of risk. He had not expected Warren to confess. He thought he’d just ignore it all and it would go away. Although, he realized Warren probably knew about his preference. As he did Warren’s.

“First off, that you didn’t run away shocked, is by itself a shock.” Warren commented.

Scott frowned. “Warren. I still have vision. I’m not blind. I may be uncomfortable with…emotions, but we both know the truth. We just can’t…”

Warren was quiet for a long moment, his wings fidgeting slightly, as though he was trying to figure out how to say what they both already knew. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. But I’d rather say it than pretend." He stepped closer to Scott. "If anyone found out... we’d both be done for. But I don’t want to pretend. We can’t or you don’t want it?”

Scott took a deep breath, trying to push down the panic bubbling. "We can’t... Warren, we’re breaking every rule."

Warren looked at Scott, searching for his eyes hidden behind the glasses. He was hopeful because Scott didn’t tell him he didn’t want him. That was a good sign. "Yeah. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you."

Scott’s heart hammered. "We can’t do this," he said, shaking just a little. “Why would you even choose me when there’s Hank, Bobby and Jean?”

But Warren was already stepping closer, his wings brushing the air around Scott as he leaned in just slightly. "I know," he murmured, "But I want to. If you want to, too, that is. As for the other thing, my heart is not really in control of who I fall for.”

Despite the fear- despite the uncertainty- Scott couldn’t stop the way his body leaned toward Warren, like there was something magnetic pulling them closer.

The tension in the room lingered, heavy with things left unsaid. Warren took a deep breath, his wings shifting nervously behind him. “Why does it feel so good and normal to feel this way about another man?” he asked quietly, but there was a challenge in his voice. “But it’s not allowed. Not by anyone, and certainly not by the world we’re in. Why does it feel so natural when they tell us it is not? Could they be wrong? I like you, Scott. A lot. And you like me too. Don’t you?”

Scott hesitated; his throat tight. He’d never let himself think this deeply about it before, but hearing Warren say it out loud made it impossible to ignore. The question hung in the air between them, and for the first time, Scott felt an unfamiliar crack in his walls. “I…I do. But, Warren…”

Warren took a small step closer, his stare unwavering. "Is being a mutant bad?" he asked, "Why should this be bad, too? We're already different, already seen as dangerous. Why do they get to decide what’s right or wrong for us?" He didn’t know how he knew what to say. As if the words were something he'd been trying to say for a long time, rooted somewhere in his subconscious.

Scott never thought about it like that. Of course, being a mutant was something they were constantly told was wrong—something to hide, something to be ashamed of. But here, it felt like something that made sense. It was real, and it was a part of who they were.

Scott swallowed, looking down at his hands. “I... I never thought about it like that. I guess I always just thought... I don’t know. That being a mutant is hard enough. Adding this...” He trailed off, feeling the weight of the words. He wasn’t even sure how to articulate it. But deep down, he knew Warren had a point.

Warren asked gently, "You think it's different because you're a mutant? That we can't feel this way because of it?" He shook his head, “It's not any different. We're human. Just like anyone else. We're not meant to hide who we are.” He continued, “These shelves talk about Achilles and Patroclus, Alexander and Hephaestion. They talk about them being warriors, conquerors, legends even. But if you really read—if you really see-you’ll know it was more than that. It wasn’t just about battles or empires. It was about love, Scott.  Achilles fought not just for glory, but for Patroclus. Alexander mourned Hephaestion like he’d lost a piece of his soul.” He gestured to the shelves around them, as if the ancient tomes and scrolls bore witness to his words. “The stories are here, Scott. They've always been here. We’ve always been here. People like us, loving in the face of war, of hatred, of everything. We’re not some anomaly.”

Scott looked up at him, something like understanding breaking through the confusion. "You’re right," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought it would be easier to just ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist. But it feels real. And... god, it feels good whenever I feel this way. Its…it’s not a negative feeling. What I’m trying to say is…of all the emotions I’ve had since the plane crash, this one makes me feel good. Alive."

Warren smiled a little, but there was something bittersweet in it.

"When did you start feeling like this, though?" Scott asked suddenly, his voice catching. "When did you first... know?"

Warren paused, his eyes flicking down for a moment before he met Scott’s gaze again. "When I was in boarding school," he said softly. "I guess it was normal there to experiment, you know? A bunch of us went through that phase. A few boys my age... we would sneak around, mess around in secret. It was more about curiosity, I think, than anything else, but it felt real. It didn’t feel wrong. I didn’t feel like something was off." He looked at Scott with a knowing glint in his eyes. “And you?”

Scott leaned back against the couch, feeling the weight of the conversation settle deeper into his bones. "I... I could never do that. Not at the orphanage," he said quietly. "I had my... crushes, but I couldn't do anything. Hell, I could barely even acknowledge it. But, I used to think about it. A lot. The people managing it though, made sure to tell me it was wrong. That I should be with a woman. Especially Mr. Milburry."

Warren suddenly felt very protective of Scott. Angry on behalf of him. “Well, Milburry and the others can fuck off.”

Scott paused, looking away for a moment, feeling a flush creep up his neck. "I remember the first time I saw Johnny Storm on the news. He was-god, he was so... so damn beautiful. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him, what it would feel like to just be close to him, you know?" he confessed. A secret he’d buried for years. "But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even let myself think about it because I didn’t know what to do with those feelings."

Warren studied him for a moment, his expression softening. "And now?" he asked quietly. "What do you do with them now?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably, his mind racing. “I don’t know. I guess I try to forget about them.” He let out a humourless laugh. “Or I used to, anyway.”

Warren placed his hand over Scott’s. “You don’t have to forget about it, Scott. Not with me.” He let the weight of his words sink in. "We’re both still figuring it out. But you don’t have to hide it anymore. You don’t have to pretend. Not with me."

Scott swallowed hard. He didn’t have the words for what he was feeling, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to acknowledge it fully, but everything in him wanted to believe Warren. He wanted to say it was okay, that this-whatever it was-was okay.

He finally looked Warren in the eye, meeting him halfway. "Yeah... I guess I don’t have to pretend anymore."

And for the first time in a long while, Scott felt a small spark of relief. The silence between them stretched. He bit his lip, trying to think of something to say to break the tension, but his thoughts were all tangled up.

Scott glanced at Warren, his voice almost a whisper. "Do your parents know?"

Warren didn’t immediately answer. He leaned back, folding his wings behind him, and stared at the floor for a long moment, like he was weighing the words before speaking. Finally, he exhaled a slow, almost defeated breath. "No. They don’t. My dad would lose his mind if he knew." He gave a bitter laugh. "Being rich, you get to be eccentric. You can get away with stuff if you have the right name, the right status. People call it indulgence or whatever, but they don’t really ask questions. They just keep it private. Hide it well even from family. They don’t care enough to pry as long as everything’s under wraps."

Warren rubbed a hand through his hair. "My dad had this whole talk with me when I was younger. About keeping my private life private. About marrying a woman, for the family, for the image. That kind of thing."

There was a part of Scott that admired Warren for his refusal to bend, but another part-one he couldn’t quite shake-felt a pang of jealousy. Warren had the privilege of being able to pretend without facing the same level of rejection.

"I don’t give a shit about any of that," Warren added, quieter now, more serious. "I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to live my life pretending. Because, frankly? It is exhausting. But, if my dad ever found out... well, it wouldn’t end well."

"Makes me almost glad my dad is not alive. I don't know what he'd think of me." Scott sat on the couch with a huff.

Warren followed suit. "Well, unaccepting fathers, aside. Tell me more about Johnny Storm." He wanted to change the subject. Didn’t want to talk about fathers anymore.

Scott's stomach twisted, a hot rush of embarrassment creeping up his neck at the mention of Johnny Storm. He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how personal this conversation had become, how much he had already let slip. "I, uh..." He hesitated, struggling to keep his voice steady. "There were fantasies. A lot of them."

Warren raised an eyebrow, still teasing, but there was something else in his gaze now-curiosity. "Fantasies, huh?" his voice lowered just a bit as he leaned slightly forward. "What kind of fantasies?"

Scott could feel his face burn. "I don’t-" He broke off, feeling suddenly exposed, and fought the urge to laugh awkwardly. "Nothing crazy. Just... I dunno, seeing him up close, getting to... actually talk to him, maybe. Being around him without it feeling so impossible. You know? That kind of stuff."

Warren nodded, seemingly considering the admission. He didn't push Scott for more details, but the playful edge in his smile softened. "I get that. Sometimes it's easier to imagine someone in a fantasy than to actually try to do anything in real life."

Scott let out a breath, relieved that Warren didn’t pry further. But as the silence settled between them again, something else occurred to Warren. The teasing note returning with an edge of something more personal, more probing. "So, Scott," he began, shifting just a little closer, his tone careful but direct. "Have you ever... had any fantasies about me?"

The question hit Scott like a wave. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t quite process what Warren had just said. He wanted to laugh it off, to brush it aside, but the question hung in the air between them.

Scott turned away, eyes fixed on the floor, his heart beating louder than he cared to admit. But with the tension rising between them, with the raw honesty of their conversation, it suddenly felt impossible not to.

"Why the hell would you ask me that?" Scott muttered defensively, more to himself than to Warren, but the redness on his face betrayed him.

Warren didn’t answer right away, just watching Scott with a strange intensity. Finally, Warren leaned back, folding his wings carefully behind him as he gave a soft, almost thoughtful laugh. "I dunno," he said, his voice more casual again, but there was something softer beneath it. "Just curious. You don’t have to answer, Summers. I’m not gonna bite."

Scott’s eyes flicked to Warren, and for the briefest of moments, their gazes locked. He could tell Warren wasn’t mocking him, wasn’t looking for an answer to throw in his face. It wasn’t like all the other jokes they’d exchanged. This was... something different. And it made Scott uncomfortable, more than anything else.

"God, you’re impossible." Scott muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening on the armrest of the couch. He looked anywhere but at Warren, trying to regain control over his thoughts.

Scott let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, trying to ignore the rush. He shifted in his seat, uneasy but not entirely sure why. Maybe it was the silence that followed the question. Or maybe it was the way Warren seemed to... get it, without even needing an answer.

They weren’t the same two people who had started this conversation. It wasn’t just about Johnny Storm anymore. And, Scott wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

"So, uh..." Scott cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to something safer, but even he could hear how forced his tone sounded. "What about you, then? You ever have any fantasies? About anyone?"

Warren raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a cocky grin. "Guess you’ll have to wait to find out."

Scott rolled his eyes under his glasses, half-relieved, half-frustrated. His breath came out shaky, but he couldn’t stop. “When you said you’d want to kiss me... would you still want to?” he asked.

Warren didn’t immediately answer, just let the silence stretch a beat longer than necessary, like he was analyzing the moment, “Do you want it?”

Scott swallowed, fighting the knot of fear and excitement. The truth was, he did want it, but saying it out loud, admitting it to both of them-it felt like stepping off a ledge.

“I’ve never been…” Scott trailed off, his mind racing, struggling to find the words. Never been this unsure, never felt this way about a guy, never wanted to act on it until now— he cut himself off, unwilling to say it all out loud.

Warren’s teasing edge was gone, replaced with something gentle. “We could... try it, you know. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Scott’s gaze flickered down, then back up to Warren’s face. Try it. It sounded so simple, but it wasn’t. It was everything-something they couldn’t take back. Something that would change everything. But at that moment, in the quiet of the room, with the remnants of x-mas shambles around them, the truth hanging between them, it didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

“I’d like that.” The words slipped out of Scott before he could stop them.

Warren reached forward, moving slowly as if giving Scott the chance to pull away if he wanted to. But Scott didn’t move, didn’t protest, and the moment stretched between them.

Warren’s lips brushed against Scott’s, tentative at first, like testing the waters. But the moment their lips met, something inside both of them shifted. It wasn’t the rush of some spontaneous decision, but a slow, building understanding that had been simmering between them for weeks. The kiss deepened, neither of them pulling back, each of them giving into the gravity of it, the shared need.

Scott's mind was a whirl, every thought flooding in at once-the heat of Warren's mouth, the softness of his lips, the way their bodies seemed to fit together without explanation. Every nerve was alight with something he couldn’t describe, something new. And yet, for all that confusion, it also felt right.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, neither of them spoke right away. Warren’s lips quirked up in a half-smile, but there was nothing mocking about it, nothing sarcastic. Just... something real, something they’d both been afraid to acknowledge.

Scott’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t from anxiety. It was from something else, something warm and powerful that seemed to settle in his bones. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He was still riding the high of the kiss, but unsure of where things were going next. His voice was a little rough as he broke the silence, his eyes locked on Warren’s. “How was it? Was I good?”

Warren let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, his eyes glimmering with a mix of admiration and something else that Scott couldn’t quite place. “Scott, you were perfect.” He leaned forward, his breath hot against Scott’s ear. “Come here.”

Before Scott could respond, Warren was moving, straddling his lap with a fluid grace that made Scott's pulse spike. The closeness of their bodies was electric, and he swallowed, suddenly aware of the overwhelming heat between them.

Warren’s voice was low, tentative in a way that felt almost out of place. “Is this okay?” he asked, his hands resting lightly on Scott’s shoulders as he searched Scott’s expression for any sign of hesitation.

Scott didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he pulled Warren closer, his hands sliding down to Warren's waist. Without thinking, he kissed him again, more urgently this time, his fingers curling around Warren’s hips, drawing him in.

The kiss was deeper as if they were both trying to communicate everything they hadn’t said aloud, around the soft rhythm of their breathing and the heat of their skin pressed together.

Scott felt the weight of Warren on top of him, the soft slide of his hands across Warren’s back, and the way their bodies seemed to align so easily. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before, and yet, somehow, it felt like everything he had been holding back for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Scott looked up at Warren. He couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips. “Perfect, huh?”

The record player started humming slow music, almost as if it was expecting them to kiss.

Probably a glitch, Scott thought to himself.

Warren’s smirk was almost lazy, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it. “You were more than perfect.” His voice was low. “But we can keep going if you want. Merry Christmas to me.”

Scott chuckled. He felt a rush of heat at those words. He didn’t need to say anything, though. Instead, he leaned in, kissing Warren once more, this time with the certainty that whatever happened next, he wasn’t turning back.

Scott’s lips were still warm from the kiss, the sound of music wafted in the room-when everything around him suddenly shifted-like the world had just tilted, an invisible force pulling him under. The air felt thick, too dense, and his body became aware of the tension in his limbs, like something, someone was out of sync. He pulled away from Warren, still holding him close, confusion blooming. The world around him began to waver.

For a split second, nothing made sense.

The walls-their surroundings-felt wrong. Too bright, too cold. The warm intimacy that had been there only moments ago was gone, replaced by something… off. Disconnected.

The air, once warm and heavy with their breath, now felt too crisp, too sterile. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, the only constant in the sudden vertigo that seemed to be pulling him in every direction at once.

"Warren?" Scott breathed.

“Warren?” Scott wasn’t sure what was happening, but something was pulling at him. His memories, his emotions-everything felt too vivid, too real, and yet completely off.

But Warren’s expression was one of shock, and recognition, as if the same thing had just happened to him.

“I-” Warren faltered, trembling. He reached a hand out, almost instinctively, and their fingers brushed. The touch sent a jolt through Scott’s body, like electricity racing through his veins.

Suddenly, everything clicked.

Scott’s eyes flew wide as fragmented memories slammed into him-vivid flashes of the past. 

They were in Utopia. He remembered the way the sky had looked, the stars shining so brightly. He had been letting it all out to Warren, the words spilling out of him. The pain of his breakup with Emma had been raw, and Warren had been there for him-listening, comforting. One thing had led to another, and the kiss between them had been something neither of them had expected, but neither had been able to stop.

The turntable kept playing the music. The same music that was played a few decades ago when they were young.

And then-the touch. 

It had been like a wave crashing over them. The kiss had felt like the breaking of some invisible wall between them, and in that moment, it felt like they were connected. The overwhelming feeling had been so intense, so real, but now… now it felt like it had been buried, suppressed, until this moment.

Scott’s breath caught in his throat. “We-” he started, but the words didn’t come.

Warren seemed to be having the same realization. “You remember too, don’t you? The night… the kiss…”

Scott searched Warren’s face, and it was like the pieces of a puzzle were falling into place. The connection they’d shared that had been repressed.

Scott’s hands shook as he reached out, his fingers trembling as he took hold of Warren’s wrist. “But… how? How do we both feel the same thing at the same time?”

Warren’s expression darkened with confusion and something else-guilt? Fear? “I don’t know… But I feel it too, Scott. I feel it here,” he pressed a hand to his chest.

The recognition was slow, but then it had hit them both at once-a mental jolt, like a flash of lightning sparking across their minds, igniting something they had both suppressed. The flood of memories and connection buried deep in their subconscious was finally surfacing at the same time.

They both felt it, at once-an overwhelming sense of knowing. It was as if the floodgates had been opened simultaneously, their memories crashing over them in perfect synchrony.

“I…” Scott’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I remember... I remember everything, Warren.”

Warren’s gaze sharpened. He stepped forward, almost trembling.

Scott nodded, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “The kiss, us… that night at the mansion. But not just that. Before, too. Everything… Xavier-he did something to us, didn’t he? He-he blocked it out.”

Warren’s face twisted in horror and confusion. “I thought it was just me, that maybe I was imagining it, or-no, no, we were together-but we weren’t supposed to be, were we?” His voice cracked. “We weren’t supposed to remember any of this.”

Scott's stomach tightened at the thought of how it had all been manipulated. He took a sharp breath, his gaze locking with Warren’s. “He erased our memories. He made sure we didn’t… remember this.”

Warren closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. “He put it in our heads that we couldn’t be together, that we weren’t meant to... to feel this. But it’s always been there, hasn’t it? All this time, it was always there.”

The realization hit like a physical blow. The veil had been lifted

As their memories snapped back into place, both of them saw how it had all been manipulated, how they had been used like pawns in someone else’s game. 

Clenching his fists, Warren stood. "How could he do this to us? How could he erase us like that? Like we meant nothing!" His mind reeled with anger. The deep, burning fury at Xavier. At what he'd done to them. To their lives. To their love.

Scott's hands trembled at his sides. "Are we talking about the same Xavier? The one who made me forget I had a brother?" The words left a bitter residue on his tongue.

Warren seethed under his breath, wings shifting uneasily. "You're right. I know I lost faith in him a long time ago, but...all this...what he did...ugh! Damn him! How much more have we fucking lost? What else did he erase?"

Scott tried to blink the tears away, but a steady trickle fell down his face. "How much of my life have I lost because of people like Sinister and Xavier playing mind games. I'm sick of it." He sat at the edge of the couch, face in his hands.

Warren's heart ached to see Scott in this state. He gently wiped away the tears from Scott's face, careful not to disturb the glasses.

"I'm sorry," Scott whispered, "I'm so sorry. For all the time we've lost. For everything we never got to have."

Warren shook his head, "No, I'm sorry." He took Scott's hands in his own and leaned forward. He touched Scott's forehead with his own. "It wasn't your fault. Okay?"

Without thinking, Scott reached up, cupping Warren's face with both hands and kissed him. This time they were trying to make up for all the time they'd been denied.

When they finally pulled apart, Warren let out a frustrated sigh. "So much time wasted. So many years." He was consumed with anger, betrayal and regret. Every second he thought of Xavier, his other side wanted to emerge. Xavier had to pay. His angelic wings transformed into metallic ones. "We could have had so much more. But he ruined everything." Every word he spat out was filled with rage and venom towards their old mentor.

Scott remained calm and practical, as always. He was calculating all the probabilities in his head. Trying to determine one that would hurt Xavier the most. "He'll do it again. He'll just wipe our memories again. We need to think ahead. Plan it out. But for now, I just want to be with you."

Scott pulled Warren to him. Didn't want him going to the dark side. It had happened too many times. He silenced his Angel's frustration with a kiss full of determination. Warren's sharp intake of breath melted into Scott's as his metallic wings folded protectively around them, encasing them in their own private cocoon.

Warren’s wings shifted back into their softer, angelic form as he exhaled deeply. Only Scott had known how to bring him back almost immediately after transforming. He'd wondered why. But something always stopped him from thinking about it. Or someone. “Okay,” he said, “For now… let’s just have this. You and me.” His fingers absently traced along Scott’s jawline as though trying to memorize every inch of him. “I always wanted to give you a happily ever after,” he admitted, his blue eyes shimmering. “But I’m sorry I couldn’t. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most.”

Scott shook his head, taking Warren’s hand in his own and holding it firmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I don’t believe there are any happy endings. Not for people like us. It’s the moments-the little ones-that give you happiness. That’s what matters.”

Warren captured Scott’s lips with a sudden need, like he’d been waiting years to do it-which, to be fair, he had. His hands gripped Scott’s waist, yanking him in, like he couldn’t stand the idea of any space between them.

Scott didn’t hesitate. His hands threaded through Warren’s hair, tugging him closer. His fingers tangled with golden strands as he tilted his head, taking the kiss deeper. Warren groaned into it, his white wings twitching before flaring out instinctively, then curling tight around them. The feathers brushed against Scott’s back, sending a shiver through him that only seemed to spur them both on.

Scott slid his hands down, gripping Warren’s hips, his nails digging into the muscle there.  Warren’s own hands roamed over Scott’s back, clutching and kneading like he was afraid Scott might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Their movements got faster, messier, more desperate-years of frustration, anger, and longing crashing together all at once.

Warren broke away first, breathing hard, lips red and swollen. He didn’t move far, though-just enough to bury his face in the crook of Scott’s neck, inhaling deeply as his hands slid down to Scott’s hips, holding him firmly in place. His lips brushed against Scott’s skin, leaving a trail of heated kisses along his jawline and down to his collarbone, each one a plea for more time, more moments like this.

Scott tilted his head back, his breath hitching as Warren’s lips found the sensitive spot just below his ear. His fingers dug into Warren’s arms, his own need surging to the surface. “Warren,” he breathed, his timbre rough and low.

Warren lifted his head, his eyes blazing as they locked onto Scott. “I’m not losing you again.” His hands tightened their grip, “Not again. Not ever.”

Scott didn’t bother answering. Instead, he just grabbed Warren by the collar and kissed him again, just as hard, just as fierce. Their bodies pressed together, heat and desperation driving them as they lost themselves in each other, if only for a moment.

The world could wait. For now, there was only this-only them.