The clock in Rogue’s office at the X-Mansion ticked lazily past 2 p.m., the autumn sunlight streaming through the tall windows and casting long shadows over the chaos of paperwork strewn across her imposing oak desk. She sat like a general surveying a battlefield, her green eyes sharp and unyielding, a gloved hand tapping a pen with rhythmic impatience. Her auburn hair, streaked with that iconic white lock, framed a face that could command a room without a word. Authority clung to her like a second skin, and she wore it well.
The door creaked open, and in slunk Ben, an 18-year-old loner with ice powers and a demeanor as frosty as his abilities. His grey hoodie was pulled up tight, obscuring half his face, his head bowed like he carried the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders. He looked like a storm cloud ready to burst, all brooding intensity and teenage angst, his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor as he hesitated just inside the threshold.
“Well, sugar, don’t just stand there gawkin’. Come on in and shut the door behind ya,” Rogue drawled, her Southern accent slicing through the silence like a knife through butter. She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her gaze pinning him in place. “I ain’t got all day to babysit sulkin’ boys.”
Ben shuffled forward, closing the door with a soft click, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. He didn’t meet her eyes, just stared at some invisible spot on the floor, his jaw tight.
Rogue tilted her head, her pen still tapping a staccato beat. “I’ve been gettin’ reports, Ben. Emma Frost says you’re dodgin’ her like she’s got the plague. Storm reckons you’ve been hidin’ out in the woods instead of trainin’. And Psylocke? Well, she just flat-out called you a ‘miserable little gremlin.’ So, what’s your deal? You plannin’ on ghostin’ everyone till graduation, or you got somethin’ to say for yourself?”
Ben’s shoulders hunched further, if that was even possible. “I just… I don’t wanna be here,” he mumbled, his voice cracking like thin ice underfoot. “I miss my friends. My real friends. Human ones. Before all this… mutant crap.”
Rogue’s expression didn’t budge, but her eyes flickered with something—maybe recognition, maybe pity. She set the pen down with a deliberate clack. “That so? And what’d your folks think about you ditchin’ outta here? They know you’re playin’ lone wolf?”
He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “My dad… he kicked me out. When he found out I was… you know. A freak. Said I could come here or nowhere. Dropped me off and didn’t look back.” His voice was raw, barely above a whisper, each word dragged out like it pained him to speak.
Rogue leaned forward now, elbows on the desk, her gloved hands steepled. Her gaze softened just a fraction, but her tone stayed hard as steel. “I’m sorry ‘bout that, sugar. Truly. But you’re here now, and mopin’ ain’t gonna fix a damn thing. So why don’t you tell me why you’re so miserable you can’t even look me in the eye? What’s eatin’ at you?”
Ben shuffled his feet, his face half-hidden by the hood, but even in the dim light, she could see the flush creeping up his neck. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like the words were stuck in his throat. Finally, he muttered, “It’s… it’s not just the ice thing. There’s… something else. Another mutation.”
Rogue arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips twitching with intrigue, though skepticism lingered in her tone. “Oh? And what’s got you squirming like a worm on a hook, darlin’? I’ve seen a lotta weird in my day. Lay it on me.”
He hesitated, his hands trembling as they gripped the hem of his hoodie. “Can you… can you close the blinds? Please? I don’t want anyone seein’.”
Rogue let out a short, sharp laugh, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Lord, boy, you’re actin’ like you’re about to confess to murder. What is this, some kinda melodrama? Fine, fine, I’ll humor ya.” She flicked her wrist, and the heavy blinds snapped shut with a satisfying thud, plunging the room into a muted, intimate dimness. She leaned back again, crossing her arms over her chest, her posture still radiating control. “Alright, sugar. Whatever freaky little secret you’re hidin’, I’ve seen weirder. Judgment ain’t in my vocabulary, so spit it out.”
Ben stood there for a long, agonizing moment, his breath uneven, his face now beet-red even in the low light. Then, with a shaky exhale, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and—before Rogue could even process what was happening—dropped them to the floor.
Her eyes widened for the briefest of seconds, a flicker of shock breaking through her ironclad composure as she took in the sight before her. There it was, his second mutation: a horse-sized endowment that damn near made her choke on her own spit. She recovered almost instantly, though, letting out a low, appreciative whistle. “Well, damn, kid. You’re packin’ more than just ice powers, ain’t ya?”
Ben’s hands flew to cover himself, his face a mask of pure mortification as he stammered, “I-I didn’t know who else to go to. It’s… it’s a problem. I don’t know how to… deal with it. I thought maybe you’d… I dunno, help or something.” His voice was a desperate, trembling mess, his eyes glued to the floor like it might swallow him whole.
Rogue barked out a laugh, sharp and cutting, her gloved hand waving dismissively. “Sugar, I’m the principal of this damn school, not some back-alley floozy. Pull your pants up ‘fore someone walks in and I gotta explain why I’m playin’ therapist to a half-naked teenager. Go on, now.”
He fumbled to comply, his movements jerky and embarrassed, but as he tugged his jeans back up, he muttered something under his breath, so quiet she almost missed it. “I’ve… I’ve always had a crush on you. Since I was a kid. Watched you on TV, savin’ the world and stuff.”
The room went still, the air thickening with a tension that hadn’t been there before. Rogue’s smirk faltered for a heartbeat, her green eyes narrowing as she processed his words. She leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a dangerous, honeyed purr. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Flattery’s cute, darlin’, but don’t think for a second it’s gonna get you outta this mess. You got bigger problems than a schoolboy crush—and I mean that literally.”
Ben swallowed hard, still not meeting her gaze, but the corner of Rogue’s mouth twitched with a wicked amusement. She wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed or intrigued, but one thing was clear: this kid was gonna be more trouble than she’d bargained for. And damn if she didn’t kinda like the challenge.
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