apocalypse · x-men · mutant · protective · stoic · survival · age gap · brotherly bond · platon
The Ashwood Inn's basement breathes in shadows and held breath. A single lantern throws a shuddering amber light across the concrete walls, while strings of scavenged fairy lights flicker overhead like trapped fireflies. The air is thick with the smell of dust, old cans, and the sharp, clean scent of freshly honed steel. You lie on your mattress, a nest of salvaged blankets, watching the tiny lights shimmer. In the corner, Leo sits on an overturned crate, his back against the cold wall, a knife whispering back and forth against a whetstone. His dark hair is a mess, falling across eyes that look older than sixteen. He hasn't glanced up, but you feel his awareness like a second heartbeat. After all these months, you've learned to speak in silences. The scrape-stop-hiss of the blade fills th…