I've seen variations of this floating around, and even though I'm still working on my last ficlet from the last time I offered drabbles, I wanted to try this
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She thought he was crazy, and she was probably right, but Remy couldn’t back off now.
The things that should matter to him - her mutation, her alliance, her past, the furtive way she looked around when they were together as if she was ashamed of him - didn’t. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to get scared off because she couldn’t touch him, because she couldn’t be with him out in the open. Remy Lebeau didn’t back off because of a challenge.
Remy Lebeau didn’t abandon his own dreams, either, and every night, he dreamed of her.
Not a perfected version of her, not some glossy blank-eyed caricature of Rogue. Not the woman he hoped for wrapped up in a familiar shell. He’d made that mistake before with Belladonna, and he damn sure wasn’t going to make it again.
The Rogue in his dreams had a temper like a wildcat and turned her nose up at him and was insecure and was usually cloaked neck to toes in the fabric that Rogue considered her second skin. Even when his dreams took him to places he’d never gone in reality, she kept barriers between them, and when he kissed her in dreams she stayed at arm’s length.
She was never teasing and coy about it, but stalwart. This is our fate, she seemed to say to him. We will not be lovers, even if you are my love.
Remy accepted her decision in reality, but pushed forward in the safety of the dreamscape.
I won’t live my life hindered by a trick of genetics, he screamed. I won’t let you do that.
I won’t let you fade and become bitter and brittle. I won’t.
And Rogue accepted him. Embraced herself.
Embraced him.
In his dreams, Remy took everything, and woke to nothing.
nights made of me and you
She thought he was crazy, and she was probably right, but Remy couldn’t back off now.
The things that should matter to him - her mutation, her alliance, her past, the furtive way she looked around when they were together as if she was ashamed of him - didn’t. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to get scared off because she couldn’t touch him, because she couldn’t be with him out in the open. Remy Lebeau didn’t back off because of a challenge.
Remy Lebeau didn’t abandon his own dreams, either, and every night, he dreamed of her.
Not a perfected version of her, not some glossy blank-eyed caricature of Rogue. Not the woman he hoped for wrapped up in a familiar shell. He’d made that mistake before with Belladonna, and he damn sure wasn’t going to make it again.
The Rogue in his dreams had a temper like a wildcat and turned her nose up at him and was insecure and was usually cloaked neck to toes in the fabric that Rogue considered her second skin. Even when his dreams took him to places he’d never gone in reality, she kept barriers between them, and when he kissed her in dreams she stayed at arm’s length.
She was never teasing and coy about it, but stalwart. This is our fate, she seemed to say to him. We will not be lovers, even if you are my love.
Remy accepted her decision in reality, but pushed forward in the safety of the dreamscape.
I won’t live my life hindered by a trick of genetics, he screamed. I won’t let you do that.
I won’t let you fade and become bitter and brittle. I won’t.
And Rogue accepted him. Embraced herself.
Embraced him.
In his dreams, Remy took everything, and woke to nothing.
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I love that even in his dream, she's still exactly the same!
We will not be lovers, even if you are my love.
Awww, I love that line! Oh, Remy...and the last line? Poor thing. *hugs him tight*
Thank you so much! =)
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I'm glad you enjoyed it, even the achey bits! Thank you! ♥
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