The Dreamgirl by aranenumenesse
Summary: Welcome to the sunny state of Denial.
Categories: AU, X1 Characters: None
Genres: Shipper
Tags: None
Warnings: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 1550 Read: 3353 Published: 12/29/2008 Updated: 12/29/2008
Story Notes:
Don't know where this came from. Why do I get these creepy bunnies? I want the ones carrying PWP genes!

1. Chapter 1 by aranenumenesse

Chapter 1 by aranenumenesse
There was no girl, so they told him. No matter how adamantly he claimed that dorm room number 15 was in fact taken, that there lived a girl with brown hair that was marred with two white stripes… They just shook their heads, pity and compassion masking their faces and told him to forget it. There was no girl. After Jean proposed therapy in the form of hypnosis he stopped talking about the girl. For him she was there, and as long as they didn’t try to give away the room, it really didn’t matter to him even if he was the only one who saw her.

“I’m bored,” the girl said. She had been fiddling with a sketch pad, now she tossed it aside, placing the pencil she had used carefully on to the holder on her desktop. He reached for the pad. The Statue of Liberty. Again. Hastily sketched detail of the railing that surrounded the torch that the statue was holding. She never drew anything else, just different parts of the statue.
“We could go out. Borrow Scott’s motorcycle,” he proposed, even though he knew she’d shot down that idea. He always suggested it, she always said no.
“No. It’s cold out there. Could we just hang out here?” She asked. He shrugged his shoulders. Sun was shining, and kids were playing by the pool outside, right beneath her window, but who was he to argue. Perhaps she just didn’t like going outside?
“I’m okay with that. Mind if I smoke?” He asked. She shook her head, and then produced an ash tray from a locked drawer of her desk.
“Just don’t let any of the teachers to catch you. They’d have your hide first, then mine for letting you do that in here.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t…” He said, winked at her and leaned back on the wicker chair he was sitting on, puffing his cigar and trying to come up with ideas for a conversation.

Half an hour later he finished his cigar, unable to figure out anything sensible to say. The girl had fallen asleep on top of a forest green comforter covering her bed. He shook his head, put out his cigar and stood up, wincing a bit when wicker of the chair moaned and rattled. The girl didn’t wake up. He crept closer to the bed and grabbed the hem of the comforter, folding it gently over her sleeping form before leaving the room.

He rarely respected the dinner time. He ate when he pleased, where he pleased. On rare occasions when he participated to common dinner he sat alone in the corner of the grand dining hall, his eyes scanning the crowd every now and then. He wasn’t exactly sure of what kept him on his toes. Was it because of the paranoid streak that run deep in him? Or was he trying to find her from the crowd? Most likely it was the former rather than latter reason. She never came out from her room during this time of day. Actually, she never came out, period. She blamed her skin. She was scared that she’d accidentally touch somebody. She had told him that her skin was lethal to touch. He’d never touched her skin on skin, but he believed her. There really was no reason why she would have lied to him.

“I was thinking… Would you go out with me?” He asked. The girl was once again sitting on her bed, legs crossed, pencil flying over a sheet of paper, and from this angle he could tell that she was drawing the crown of the Statue of Liberty.
“Out?” She asked, her eyes never leaving the paper.
“Yeah. Tonight. We could sit in the garden or something.”
“I don’t know…” The girl said, chewing the blunt end of the pencil absentmindedly.
“Come on, you can’t spend the rest of your life cooped up in here…” He said, and then reached for the sketch pad. She didn’t try to stop him.

It was the crown of the Statue of Liberty. She had taken a strange approach to it. Almost as if she had been sitting above it. To do that she would have had to see the statue from on top of the torch, and that was impossible. They didn’t let tourists in to the torch anymore.
“We wouldn’t have to be long out there. You could bring your pencil and paper. You need new ideas of what to draw,” he said, handing the pad back to the girl.
“But I like to draw Liberty. Is there something wrong with that?” She asked, hint of anger flashing in her eyes as she accepted the pad, then tucked it protectively underneath her pillow.
“Nothing wrong with that. You’re good at what you do. But I thought that you artistic guys like to try out new things all the time…”
“Well, you thought wrong! I like being cooped up in here! I like to draw Liberty only! I don’t want to go out!” The girl shouted. He raised his hands.
“Fine, fine. No need to get all bitchy about it. We can stay here. Maybe watch a game of hockey?” He proposed quickly. She was no big fan of hockey, but at least it gave them a good excuse to drop the earlier subject.

Weeks go by, then months. Seasons change and the inevitable happens. Another girl moves in to the room number 15. He wonders if the girl who already lived there will move out or accept the new roommate. He can’t very well just go and ask Xavier about it. So, instead he tries to put her away from his mind. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

It’s easier said than done. He’s worried. He’s antsy. He’s so curious, worried, wound up and plain missing her that it threatens to drive him up the walls, and his sour attitude makes it even harder to interact with people that he’s supposed to regard as his closest friends and family. Then, one night it happens.

He’s sitting in a small gazebo, trying to decide would it be worth the hassle to try and see if she still lives in the room number 15. It wouldn’t take much, there’s a drain pipe running from the roof all the way down to earth along the wall, right beside her window. He could climb up and just look. Look through the window quickly to see if her clothes and sketch pads were still in the room.

“I moved out.” Her voice startles him at first, then he settles back, shuffling aside to give her some room on the bench he’s sitting on. She sits, then turns to look at the window which he has been staring for the better part of an hour already.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’m finishing school this summer anyway. Just few weeks more…” She says. He doesn’t point out that it’s closer to Christmas already. She seems to live in her own time and space.
“Okay. Where… Where do you live now?” He asks. The girl just stares at the toes of her boots for a long while, then turns to look at him, embarrassment shining from her face.
“Nowhere… Uh… Could you… Um, would you mind if…” She stutters, then just stares at him, the look on her face pleading him to understand her unspoken question.
“You want to move in with me?” He asks perplexed. He isn’t sure if that’s what she’s asking, but it seems to be the correct interpretation. Her cheeks gain even deeper shade of red and she turns her gaze away.
“You don’t have to say yes. I understand if you don’t want me as your roommate. It was just a stupid idea, anyway…” She mumbles, then abruptly stands up. He grasps a hold from her arm before she leaves.
“You can move in. You… I… Well, if it is for just few weeks, I think I could manage having a roommate. And if I have to have a roommate, you’d be my first choice anyway, and… Uh…”

He has to bite the tip of his tongue to stop rambling. The girl looks at him, still unsure, but more hopeful look on her face.
“Are you sure? It’s okay that I move in to your place?” She asks. He nods, not wanting to risk another attack of sudden ramblinitis.
“I can bring my pencils and papers?” The girl asks. He nods again.
“…And it’s okay if I keep drawing the Liberty?” She asks. He lets out the breath he has been holding.
“Fuck. You can draw only three legged dogs, for all I care. You want me to help with moving your stuff?” He asks. The girl shakes her head.
“I got it covered.”
“Okay. I’m heading to bed already. Wake me up if you need anything,” he says.

It’s surprisingly easy to fall asleep to the sound of the pen scraping against paper.
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