Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, I don't own X-Men, and I make no profit out of this.
It was with a cold sweat covering his nerdy chest that Scott Summers woke up, blindly cheking to make sure his - cough - ruby quartz swimming goggles were still on. He'd had the most terrible dream, worse even than the one about him, Wolverine, a tutu and new and inventive uses for a jar of peanut butter. No, this one consisted of his girlfriend Emma. Of her telepathy, bitchiness and sparkly diamond skin adding up to something quite different, something--
"Good morning, Lover"
Ah. That was better. He rolled over, eyes still half closed.
"Morning, Em-AH! Cullen! JUST HOW FREAKING DRUNK WAS I?"
"You had one watered-down cider. So I'd imagine totally blotto."
"But-You-I-"
"I'm a red-haired telepath, you know....."
Suddenly a lot more things made sense. But not why a shirtless Wolverine was suddenly leaning around the door saying "Somebody mention redheads?"
Fin.