Regardless of the nature of what lay beyond its walls, one could always expect a feeling of intense warmth upon entering the study of Professor Charles Xavier. It was as if the small room, made to feel even smaller by the stacks upon stacks of manuscripts upon its many surfaces, exuded some deeply-wrought wisdom. Entrance of the room seemed akin to an embrace of some aging patriarch, at once secure and mysterious. However, today, as Alex Summers sat before his mentor and friend, the nature of the room seemed to have changed. Shivers cascaded down the younger man's spine like icy drops of water. The piles of books, once not unlike guests in the quaint hollow of the office, now seemed to glare down at Alex like stone gargoyles. Somehow, despite the many lamps that Charles insisted on installing to better his reading ability, darkness seemed to lash out from every corner…Or perhaps, when all was said and done, that darkness only existed in the corners of Alex's mind.

"Professor," Alex whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly, "he can't really be thinking…" Charles stared at Alex for a long time, his eyes unfocused and his head clenched in his hands. Alex suspected that Charles was not truly seeing him at all. Alex, his impatience only adding to the sense of dread that already filled his being, prepared to leave the study without further comment. As he reached for the doorknob, a quiet voice, one far too calm for Alex's taste, reached his ears.

"He didn't want you to know," Alex whipped around to face Charles, anger welling up in the pit of his stomach. Why didn't Sean want him to know? How could Sean not want him to know? From their first meeting, the two young men had been closer than anyone would have expected. All of their secrets, their most heartfelt desires, their most private moments were shared. How could Sean not tell Alex something so incredibly important? They were best friends. Sean was Alex's…

"You told him you wouldn't let him send the letter, right?" Alex demanded, not allowing himself to finish his previous thought, "please tell me you told him he couldn't! That he's on contract to the X-Men! That the world isn't ready for people like him…like us! Please, Professor!" Alex took deep rasping breaths, unaware that his voice had become nothing short of a histrionic scream, "don't let him go…"

"I'm afraid I don't have much control in that regard," Charles replied. The older man's shoulders grew tense. Even in his rage, in his sadness, Alex could see that Charles echoed his thoughts.

"Sean is an adult and my X-Men have grown in number by one," the Professor continued, "had it been a few years earlier and before the recruitment of Ororo Munroe, I would have taken any steps I could to forbid it. However, at this point and time," Charles gave a long dejected sigh, "there is truly nothing that I can do…I'm sorry, Alex. I truly am."

Alex knew he meant it too. The Professor always kept his word. He was also no stranger to the feeling of being left behind, the feeling of loss… Loss…Perhaps Sean's letter would become lost in the mail! They'd never get it and they'd never reply… He felt willing to hold every possible chance of Sean staying with the X-Men, with him, firmly to his heart like some precious treasure.

"It's certainly a possibility," said Charles, "but I wouldn't dwell on the issue, not tonight. For your sake and his," Alex let his features become a smirk. He suspected that he'd never become entirely used to the Professor probing his mind.

"It's quite late. Perhaps you should sleep," added Charles, with an urgency that made Alex suspect that he didn't want to—that he couldn't bear to—continue the discussion, "give yourself some time to process the news; perhaps some time to heal…"

Without saying a word, Alex obeyed. Still shivering, he pulled open the study door and made his way toward the hall; the hall that would take him back to the room he shared with Sean…and Sean, a fae's innocence and mischief playing about his features as he slept, and the envalope, printed neatly with the lines, "INTERPOL, General Secretariat 200, quai Charles de Gaulle 69006 Lyon France," that lay upon his bedside table.