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"I'm Charles Xavier."
"I know."
It didn't take a genius to know that the radiant charisma that leapt out of him in waves was an attempt at getting to know you, or at least, a really bad attempt to at least try to get to know you. He has that sort of smile one couldn't easily wipe off their face, and you were sure that if you slapped him he'd be the one apologizing to you instead for his face making contact with your palm.
He sat across from you, hands intertwined. He wore a suit, hair neatly groomed, eyes so icy blue you'd think they were cold, but they held the warmest tone to them as his tongue visibly passed through his upper teeth. He took a look at the half-empty, or perhaps half-full glass of whiskey in front of you, then his gaze drifted back to your form.
You don't trust me. It reads clear as day in your mind, his voice ringing without you even seeing his mouth move. Of course you didn't, why would you? The mere thought you'd even trust a total stranger has you scoffing.
"Stop reading my mind, that's creepy."
"Well, then you'll have to promise to stop reading mine, too."
You stagger, one hand whose fingers tapped against the wooden table of the pub you were in, stranded by your friends to drink in a lonely area. You didn't mind it as much as you did in the past, used to the loneliness. The other hand held the cup of whiskey, strangely wet and foggy even if the ice had long melted and created a syrup that you definitely didn't want to put past your tongue.
"Touché."
Silence, you both stare at each other. He knew that you knew, you knew that he knew. It really was just a matter of time before he uttered the words, and you would reject his offer because you weren't stupid enough to publicly announce to all your friends and family that you were a mutant. The shadows whisper in your ear, a couple in an argument, a man sobbing because he was broken up with, and one... which had mutton chops.
"You brought a friend." You hum, fixing your gaze intently on him, trying to see past his facade. He looked like an angel, but you were smarter than that, all the good looking men you knew weren't truly nice.
"I'd say I'm impressed with your observation skills-"
"-but you already know what I'm capable of, yes, professor, I know." You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence, and for a second his face falters, and then he's offering you another sincere smile. Ah, he'd crumble, one way or another.
"I thought we weren't reading into each other's minds anymore?"
"Doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're here for, I'm afraid, and my answer is no." Charming man, but not charming enough he'd sweep you off your feet the exact moment he had asked to sit in front of you. He could either be a liar or be truthful, you had taken your chances long ano in not trusting people like him.
Charles takes a deep breath. He's impressed, he doesn't say it, he thinks it, just to see if you'd make any more smart comments, but you don't. Instead, he watches you, he doesn't read your mind because he doesn't have to, your body spoke for itself. Tense shoulders, feet tapping up and down beneath the tape, anxious fingers. One moment and he was sure you'd throw your drink at his face and tell him to fuck off.
"Can I show you something?" He then asks, observing the way your face morphs. It's clear to see how you debate whether to accept his offer or not, and before you can answer he gets up, moving to your side of the table and offering you his palm.
Why would you trust him to show you something in the first place? That was the top first things on the list for potential kidnappers to ask you before they kidnapped you. Internally, however, you know this man is far away from kidnapping you, and in truth, you'd find yourself trusting him more than you thought you were.
You hesitate, but you accept his outstretched hand nonetheless.