❤︎︎𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩 (𝙍𝙚𝙢𝙮 𝙇𝙚𝘽𝙚𝙖𝙪) 𝙭 𝙐𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙘!𝙁𝙩𝙈 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧❤︎︎
𖦹𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙉𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙛𝙬 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙬
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New York at 3AM was a different beast entirely. The noise of the gridlocks died down, replaced by the hum of electricity and distant wails of sirens. Up here though, on the fire escape of a rusted warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen? There was only the wind and the dark.
And you were apart of that dark.
You sat on the railing with your boots on the third rung, elbows propped on your knees. You were a contrast, that’s for sure. Built like a fortress with broad shoulders, slightly soft belly and thick arms, yet radiating a stillness that made you seem more like an onyx-carved statue. You wore an oversized hoodie that swallowed you while, but even that couldn’t hide the solid muscle of your thighs or the strength of your hands as you twisted a shadow between your fingers like taffy.
You were introverted by nature, content to let the world exist around you while you kept to the margins. To you, your shadows were a security blanket; they kept you safe, kept you hidden, and they kept the world at arms length.
Or, they usually did…
You didn’t hear him approach. Never did with that man. But you didn’t need ears to know when Remy LeBeau was near; the static said it for you.
“You look a lil lonely up dere, Mon Amí,” a voice drifted up from the alleyway, smooth like molasses and thick with that Cajun lilt.
You didn’t startle, but you did let the shadow in your hand dissipate into smoke as you shifted your gaze downward. Standing there in the pool of a flickering streetlamp was the mutant known as Gambit. He looked like a peacock that had wandered into a monochrome movie; his tan trench coat, the magenta armor underneath, even the boots that had seen too much mud.
"I'm alone," you corrected, voice a low rumble that barely rose above the wind. "There's a difference."
Remy grinned at that, and you saw the familiar pink-and-black glow of a playing card between his knuckles. He didn't charge it, shockingly. He just fanned it out, casual as anything. "Same thing, nón? Mind if I join you? The street air, she do a number on Remy’s sinuses."
You looked at him, really looked at him. You had heard of the X-Men. You had heard of the Thieves Guild. You knew Remy LeBeau well enough to know he was trouble wrapped in a charming package. You also knew you could drop a shadow construct on him from twenty feet up before he blinked.
Instead, you simply shrugged. "It’s a free country."
With a fluidity that was almost insulting, he vaulted up the escape, skipping rungs until he landed on the platform opposite you. Up close, the kinetic energy radiating off him was warm, contrasting sharply with the cool and enveloping the chill of your own power.
He got settled, leaned his back against the brick wall, unbothered by the grime, and lit a cigarette. The flame flared, illuminating his face. His sharp jawline, his burning red eyes that seemed to see right through the darkness you wore like armor..
"You ain't with Xavier's crew," you observed. It wasn't necessarily a question.
"And you ain't with the Brotherhood," he shot back, exhaling a plume of smoke that merged instantly with the shadows. "But we both got the eyes, hmm?"
You grunted, noncommittal, and shifted your weight, the metal of the fire escape creaking under your solid frame. You were used to people underestimating you. They saw a quiet Black man in a hoodie and assumed "soft." They didn't expect the linebacker build underneath, or the fact that you could snuff out every light in Manhattan with a thought.
Remy, however, was looking at you like he was trying to solve a complex riddle. His eyes tracked over the defined lines of your arms where the sleeves were pushed up, the way your chest rose and fell with a slow, rhythmic patience. He wasn't looking at you like a threat; he was looking at you like he was appreciating a piece of art in a museum he was contemplating stealing.
"You quiet," Remy noted. "Most folks with power like yours... they loud. They want the world to know. You? You hidein’."
"I like the quiet," you murmured. Shadows coiled at your feet, reacting to your subtle defensive instinct. "It's peaceful."
"It is," Remy agreed before flicking the cigarette away and watching it spiral down into the abyss of the alley. "But too much quiet makes a man cold. Even a man who wears the night like a coat."
He stepped closer, just enough into your personal space. Most people would have backed away; the air around you usually dropped ten degrees when you were annoyed. But Remy? He just walked through the chill, stopping right in front of you.
"Remy likes the warmth," he murmured as he reached out, a gloved hand hovering near your knee. He was asking for permission, in his own way. "And you look warm, despite the shadows."
You stared at him. You were a wall of muscle and silence, a man who had fought hard to carve out a space in a world that tried to define you by everything you weren't. You weren't used to being pursued so openly, so shamelessly, by someone who seemed to respect the strength in your stillness.
You looked at his hand, then up at his burning eyes. Slowly, deliberately, you extended your own. Your skin was dark, rich against the black leather of his glove.
"You play a dangerous game, LeBeau," you scoffed though there wasn’t any real bite behind it, shadows wrapping gently around his wrist like a bracelet, not to hurt, but to tether.
Remy smiled, and it was genuine, stripping away the cocky thief persona to leave something honest underneath. "Life's a gamble, Chèr. You just gotta know when to hold 'em."
He turned his hand over to catch yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The kinetic energy buzzed softly against your skin, a spark of light in your dark.
"So," he whispered, leaning in slightly. "You gonna tell Remy your name, or he gotta guess?"
You looked at him then, really looked at him. The way he stood his ground against the dark, the way he appreciated the softness of your hoodie and the hardness of the body beneath it.
With a low exhale, you gave him your name.
"A beautiful name," Remy said, bowing slightly over your hand, his lips brushing your knuckles. "Pleasure to steal a moment of your time."
You snorted, a small, soft sound that broke your usual stoic mask. "You haven't stolen anything yet."
"Give it time," he winked. "Remy just getting started."
You didn't pull your hand away. The shadows around you settled, no longer a barrier, but just a part of the background. And for the first time in a long time, the dark didn't feel so lonely.
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A/N: I’m hoping Remy’s dialogue is okay, I wrote this at 12AM last night💔
