You get nothing. No acknowledging glance, or little squeeze of your knee, or any other of the literally infinite number of things he could do to make sure you know that he understands, and is more or less… willing. Victor just tucks your paper into his pocket and continues to eat like nothing even happened. You sit there with your knee bouncing up and down, poking your food around your plate and monitoring from the corner of your eye every little change in his body language, because surely there will be something.
"Creed," Jean prompts again, because for some reason he hasn't replied to her question, "will you be available to meet with The Professor in twenty minutes?"
"Yes."
It's unlike him to be this distracted. Sunglasses seems to think so too, and shoots Jean a pointed look, but you barely notice because you've come to your own conclusion: He's turning you down. Trying to let you down easy by pretending it never happened, because you read things wrongagain. And you may be an idiot with unreturned feelings for a mutant hitman, but you are not up for the punishment of just sitting here and taking the humiliation.
"Excuse me," you mutter, quickly getting up and not sparing any of them a glance on your way out.
A caffeine withdrawal headache is beginning to pulse around the edges of your brain but you ignore it, getting the fuck out of that mansion as fast as you dare. You're soon outside, searching for a private nook on the stonework to just tuck yourself away and get some of that damp, country air deep into your lungs. This is the worst, most horrible trip of all trips, and Victor can defend himself against these people for all you ca—
There's a separate crunch of gravel behind you and Victor calls your name, because of course you can't even have five minutes to wallow.
"What?" You demand sourly, swinging around to face him.
His face is maddeningly blank while he holds up your note, still advancing on you and asks, "Is this really what you want?"
Fuck him for making you say it twice. You wish you could deny it, turn it into a joke or something because your stomach is absolutely twisting with mortification. But on the off chance that there's any hope at all, and in the spirit of being brave and true to yourself, you cross your arms and huff out a reluctant, "Yes."
He looks down at you, brow furrowed, and you just fucking unload. If you're going down for this, you're going down in a rushing waterfall of things you'll probably regret later.
"I know, Victor. I know we're away from home, with all of these people, and it's not ideal. I know it's crazy and impulsive and it's going to ruin everything, but I'm just… tired of fighting it. I've been thinking about you. Fuck, all the time. I can't stop thinking about you, and looking at you, and you've been giving me exactly what I needed and communicating, and it finally feels right to me. Does it f-feel… a little bit… right… to, to you?"
He's kept himself intensely still through that whole monologue, and when you're done he opens his mouth to answer, but there are suddenly students filtering down the steps and passing along with curious expressions. You back up towards the wall to let them by, trying to appear as professional as possible though you've just practically confessed your love to your boss and your heart is still racing a mile a minute. Victor follows you over there, settling his back up against the wall a couple of feet from you and crossing his arms.
You both silently watch the flow of students pass by, second by nerve wracking second, and finally when the last one is out of earshot he turns his head towards you and says, "I want to bite you."
You jerk your shocked eyes in his direction, and he's looking down at you, gaze sparking with perfectly contained fire, and it's all you can do to keep your mouth from dropping open in surprise.
"…every time I see you," he continues, shaking his head in agitation. "I'm just looking at you all the time, imagining taking your little ear off with my teeth like a fuckin' weirdo, cause you're so cute I can't even stand it." He twists to lean just one shoulder there, so he can face you and simply stare you down with those gorgeous amber eyes. "I've got your scent stuck in my nose for days when you're not even there, got the feel of your fuckin' body burned onto my hands, and you wanna know if being with you feels right to me?"
The wires in your brain don't connect. You're unable to think of a single response to that, and just let your arms hang uselessly by your sides and stare dumbly back at him while he keeps going.
"There are things I haven't told you about me. Things you need to know, about… what I am… that I can't bring myself to say." He's roughing up his beard with his fingers, all stressy like you're some Friends of Humanity crazy and not literally the woman who loves him.
"I already told you," you promise, "I'm good with it. It doesn't bother me."
"Yeah, you did say that, and the next time I saw you, you didn't want anything to do with me."
There it is. That's the big one, you know it in your gut. The whopping insecurity that's been eating at him for months. He's spent all this time thinking he revealed too much, and you rejected him for it.
"Victor, no," you breathe, taking a little step towards him, desperate to prove how wrong he is, but he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.
"I'm old. Really fuckin' old, like a couple hundred years. Got a healing factor where I never get sick and never die, no matter how hurt I am. Got claws on my toes and eyes that see in the dark, and I killed that guy in DC. Killed him for fuckin' free cause he made you cry, and I'm not sorry about it."
"It's alright," you tell him quickly, barely even processing the mountain of information he just shared. "Don't— don't even think—"
Victor's name is being called, and you both turn to see Jean and Logan at the top of the front steps. Jean has her hands on her hips, and Logan has his eyes narrowed, locked for some reason onto you, with an awful, angry slant to his shoulders.
"Fuck," Victor spits out. "Always fuckin' something."
"It's okay, we'll talk later. Tonight. We have plenty of time." Hopefully like, years.
You drink in the sight of his back while he walks away, until he's stepped inside and released you from his gravitational pull.
The morning feels like a dream. Days are passing, years, of you exploring those enormous grounds, tramping across the wet earth like some Pride and Prejudice era main character, with a happily off-leash William sniffing around for bunny poop to snack on. You can easily imagine yourself the lady of some country cottage nearby, taking her daily walk for a little fresh air, this outdoor trek being the highlight of her day aside from her husband coming home and fucking her brains out every night.
That part is effortless to imagine. Preparing something for dinner… fuck, bread or something, elbows deep in flour. The man of the house coming right in because no one locks their doors during the day, and he looks exactly like Victor, and he sees how tied down you are to your task and capitalizes on it. Presses up behind you, wraps his hands around the front of your waist and buries his face in the side of your neck. Tells you to keep working and knocks your feet a little farther apart with his boot. Reaches up to ease your cleavage out the top of your dress, just enough to expose your nipples and play with them one handed while he runs the other one over the curve of your ass.
Phew, okay, today is going to really suck for you if you keep this up. You've got to think about something else, like… how you're going to kiss Victor tonight. It has to be right. You won't let your horniness get in the way of really kissing him the way you need to, long and sweet, making sure he knows how much he deserves to be kissed like that. Fuck, you'll tell him. You're not afraid. You'll narrate your feelings and make him understand how much he means to you, with your body and your words, until there's not a single piece of him that doubts your sincerity.
Eventually your phone dings, and it's Victor letting you know he's heading to lunch, so you book it back to the mansion, leaving William in your room for a nap. Victor is already eating by the time you arrive, and you take your seat before you realize what's waiting for you on the table.
"How did you get this?" you ask delightedly, taking the lid off the still-hot latte and giving it an appreciative sniff.
"Threats of violence."
"Victor," you coo, and he's giving you that one sided, self-satisfied smile. You want to kiss him so bad, but you can't, so you just squeeze his knee under the table and whisper, "Thank you."
"Excuse me," chirps a voice beside you.
You turn to see a teenage girl a few seats away, hands clutched nervously to the seat of her chair when she leans in your direction to whisper, "Are you that girl from TikTok?"
That's just about the last question you expect, so you just rapidly blink back at her and say, "Um… I don't have TikTok."
"From the Friends of Humanity interview. It has to be you."
Suddenly you're horribly grateful that Victor is on the other side of you and can't see the heat explode through your cheeks.
"Can I take a picture with you?" The girl asks eagerly, taking your silence for acknowledgement. "My friends will be so jealous. Your video went crazy around here."
Thank god Victor is being good and still just silently eating his food next to you. You quickly agree to the photo just to make her go away faster so he won't ask any questions. The girl poses with the tip of her tongue up on her teeth, and after a quick, "You're my hero," she skips away excitedly.
You sigh deeply, and you're about to finally take a drink of your coffee when it hits you how odd it is that Victor hasn't asked you anything about that interaction. Your glare shoots over to his face and he points his eyes innocently to the ceiling.
"You've seen it," you accuse, aghast.
"Got it saved to my phone." And there's the shit eating grin.
"Oh my god," you groan, covering your face and sliding down in your seat. "It was just… like… we didn't mean to be there, and then all of a sudden there was this guy, and my date was annoying the fuck out of me, and I just got this crazy idea, and it just… came out."
"You don't need to explain yourself to me. That shit was funny." He gives your knee a couple of friendly pats. "And cute."
"So anyway," you say, desperate to change the subject, "how was your meeting?"
He makes an irritated huff and frays the edge of the tablecloth a little with two claws. "It was fine. Professor wants my help with something this afternoon. Said yes."
"What kind of thing?"
"Can't talk about it. You're not missing anything though, gonna be a fuckin' dick drag."
"Okay," you say, feeling a little put out, "just be safe."
"You don't have to worry about me."
You shoot him a look and say, "Just because you can't be permanently injured doesn't mean you can't get hurt."
"Pain is temporary."
"No," you argue, setting down your fork, "the idea of you being in pain will be permanently tattooed on my mind. Don't act like it means nothing."
He leans back in his chair, appearing almost amused at the way you're defending him to himself. "I've lived a long time, and it hasn't all been soft and comfy."
"All the more reason to have it now."
"Pain makes you appreciate the absence of it."
He says it so casually, but he's looking at you again with that very specific expression, and all of a sudden the argument on the tip of your tongue floats out reach, and your thoughts go directly to somewhere soft and comfy, and feeling the complete opposite of pain.
You don't know if it's a relief or a tragedy when Victor finally gets up with a little squeeze of your shoulder and disappears through the doorway. Most of the older mutants have trickled out too, so now it's just you and an irritating pocket of students who are whispering and grinning in your direction.
The caffeine has you too hyped up to rest with William, so you decide to poke around the garden area and try not to worry about whatever it is the mysterious professor has Victor doing. You find yourself wandering, sifting regretfully through memories and wishing you had been brave enough to talk things out earlier. Not that you're the only one to blame. Hah, no. Victor could have been a whole lot more forthcoming with you, and that would have helped things tremendously.
The scuffle of footsteps behind you has you snapped out of your thoughts, and you turn around to see Logan of all people standing there a few paces away.
"Hello," you greet him, trying not to sound too wary.
"Hey, kid."
You rankle a little at the disrespectful label and remind him of your name.
"Yeah, I remember." He looks anything but comfortable, shifting his weight and looking up at the trees every now and then. It's extremely irritating.
"Can I help you with anything, Logan? Is Mr. Creed alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. He's with the others. I actually wanted to talk to you." He steps to the side slightly, and something about the way he's got his body angled, perfectly positioned to block your exit, has you pulling out your phone with faux nonchalance.
"Well, here I am," you reply cheerily. Hardly looking down, you pull up Victor's messages on your phone and type out, "Creed," but just keep it there and don't hit send yet.
He sighs. "Are you and him?… you know." He grimaces meaningfully.
"Are we what?" If he's going to insert himself in your business, you're gonna make him say it.
"Are you two fuckin'?"
"Logan," you scold, "Mr. Creed is my boss."
"And that means fuck-all to someone like him," he says tilting his chin up. But he's relaxing a fraction now, and looks at you like he might actually believe you. "Listen, I just think you should know something, in case things ever change."
You spout off quickly, "I'm sure Mr. Creed will tell me everything pertinent to my wor—"
"It's not about him. It's about you."
"M-me?"
He takes a step forward and lowers his voice a little. "He ever tell you what you smell like?"
You blink rapidly back at him, trying to figure out what he's getting at so you can get two steps ahead. "Logan, if you're trying to insinuate I stink—"
"Nah," he says, sounding so like Victor that it gives you pause, "you smell fine. Better than most people. But I think you should know that you smell like someone he used to be close to. Someone he cared about."
Shit. SHIT. "What?" you manage to croak out, caught completely off guard.
"A girl from a long time ago. You look nothing like her, of course, but the scent is fuckin' identical. Couldn't believe it when I met you."
He seems to feel sorry for your stricken expression and sighs again. "I'm sorry you had to hear it like this. He should have told you."
When? When could he have possibly felt comfortable enough to tell you that? 'Hey, you know how all this time you thought you were somehow charming enough to catch my eye? Yeah, you were just coasting on someone else's tailwind.'
"What's her name?" You hear yourself ask.
"It was Amelia."
Was. She's dead, you know it. Probably died doing dangerous things with Victor, maybe even as his assistant. Or worse, in a nursing home somewhere after he got tired of her.
"Was she a mutant, like him?"
"Yeah."
Of course she was. It's the obvious reason they even got together in the first place. She was his equal. You aren't the replacement Amelia, you're the knockoff. Made in China and never working as well as the first one, only here for the sentimental value.
"Blonde?" you guess, just to hurt yourself.
"Yeah."
"Tall?"
"Why do you—"
"Tall?" you insist.
"Shorter than you."
Blonder and smaller and prettier, and able to make him love her in a way you never could, because they were the same.
But… was your smell really that important? He never really smelled you, like lowered his head and took a giant whiff of your hair, or sniffed you over like a bloodhound. He's never even mentioned your scent except this morning. Your desperate heart is grasping at that idea, just blindly hoping that it didn't matter very much.
"Is scent— is it, like, a big thing to him?" you ask, finally able to look Logan in the eye.
He tilts his head all pityingly and says, "You don't know much about him, do ya?"
No, no you don't, because he's been hiding everything, all this time.
