"They call it the Heart of Heaven"

And yet, his lips tipped into that knowing little smile.

Because it wasn’t for gold. Not really.

The break-in was almost insulting.

A flick of the wrist—lock undone. A shadow slipping through shadow. A guard distracted just long enough by a very convincing noise down the alley. By the time anyone noticed something was wrong, Remy was already inside, boots silent against polished floors.

Then he saw it.

Velvet-lined cases. Rows of them.

Diamonds catching the light like captured stars. Gold chains coiled like sleeping serpents. Rings, bracelets, earrings—some delicate, some bold, all gleaming with the kind of wealth men crossed oceans for.

Remy exhaled, low and amused.

“Yeah… she gonna like this.”

He didn’t rush. That was the thing about him—everything he did felt unhurried, like the world moved around him. He picked pieces carefully, not just the most expensive, but the most you. A necklace that would rest just right against your collarbone. Rings he could already imagine sliding onto your fingers. Something soft, something dangerous, something that would catch the light when you laughed.

The bag filled quick.

And just like that, he was gone again.

The ship rocked gently under moonlight when he returned, the crew either asleep or pretending not to notice their captain slipping back aboard with a very suspiciously full bag.

Remy didn’t head below deck right away.

Instead, he leaned there for a second—just outside your shared quarters—like he needed that pause. That quiet.

Because this part?

This was the part that mattered.

You were half-asleep when the door creaked open.

“Remy…?” your voice was soft, thick with sleep.

“Shh, cher,” he murmured, already moving toward you. “Don’t gotta wake up all the way.”

But there was that tone in his voice. The one that meant trouble. The one that meant him.

You pushed yourself up anyway, blinking at him through dim lantern light—and then you noticed the bag.

“…what did you do?”

He grinned.

“Somethin’ nice.”

You didn’t even have time to protest.

Because suddenly he was at the edge of the bed, undoing the bag with a flick of his fingers—and then—

Gold spilled out.

Not tossed carelessly, no—poured. Slow. Intentional. Jewelry catching the light as it cascaded over your lap, your hands, the sheets. Chains slipping through his fingers, rings clinking softly as they gathered around you like you were something to be adorned, something to be worshipped.

Your breath caught.

“Remy—”

“Mm,” he hummed, like he wasn’t listening and was listening to everything at once. “Hold still, chère.”

His hands were warm as he picked up a necklace, brushing your hair aside with surprising gentleness. The metal was cool against your skin as he fastened it, his fingers lingering just a second longer than needed.

Then another.

And another.

Rings slid onto your fingers—one, two, three—his thumb grazing your knuckles like he couldn’t help himself. Bracelets stacked along your wrists. Something delicate hooked at your ear.

You were laughing now, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed.

“This is ridiculous—”

“Non,” he cut in softly.

That was different.

You stilled.

Remy’s gaze lifted to yours, red eyes glowing faint in the low light, something deeper sitting behind the usual charm.

“Not ridiculous,” he said, quieter now. “Right.”

His hand came up, brushing a stray piece of jewelry into place—really just an excuse to touch you again.

“All this?” he gestured vaguely to the scattered gold, the glittering mess surrounding you. “Ain’t nothin’ compared to you.”

There it was.

That sincerity he didn’t show the world.

Only you.

You tilted your head, studying him—really studying him—and then reached out, catching his wrist before he could pull away.

“You stole a whole shipment,” you said slowly, “just to… dress me up?”

His grin came back, softer this time.

“‘Dress you up’ sound a lot less romantic than what I had in mind, but—yeah.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he leaned closer, voice dropping, “but you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes—but didn’t let go of him.

“Maybe a little.”

He laughed under his breath, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours, careful not to tangle the jewelry.

“Careful, chère,” he murmured. “Say that too sweet, I might have to steal you somethin’ bigger next time.”

“…bigger than this?”

“Oh, I got ideas.”

And honestly?

You shifted your weight against the wall, arms crossed loosely over your chest, trying to make yourself smaller without looking like you were trying. It was a habit you didn’t even notice anymore.

You didn’t belong in rooms like this.

Not really.

Not when people like her did.

And definitely not when he did.

Gambit stood across the room, half-leaning against the back of the couch, cards flicking idly between his fingers like they always did when he was relaxed. He was talking to someone, smiling that easy, crooked smile that made it feel like the world tilted just slightly in his favor.

He looked… right.

Like he belonged exactly where he was.

Like he always had.

And for a brief, sharp moment, your chest tightened with something you didn’t want to name.

Because he’d looked like that with her too.

You slipped out before anyone could notice.

The hallway outside was quieter, the noise of the common room fading into something distant and dull. You exhaled slowly, pressing your back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

It never did.

You dragged a hand over your face, frustrated with yourself.

This is stupid.

You weren’t competing with Rogue. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t even looked at you twice tonight.

This wasn’t about her.

Not really.

It was about that voice in your head—the one that whispered things you couldn’t quite shake.

He’s been with her.

You really think you measure up to that?

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Y’got a habit of disappearin’ when things get loud, chère.”

Your eyes snapped open.

Of course.

You didn’t even need to look to know it was him—but you did anyway.

Gambit stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, expression softer than usual. Less playful. More… careful.

Like he’d already figured something out.

“Just needed some air,” you said quickly.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Inside a hallway?”

You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Question is—why you runnin’ from it?”

“I’m not running.”

“Mm.” His eyes flicked over your face, reading you in that way he had—too perceptive for your liking. “Then why you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you losin’ a fight no one else can see.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

You looked away.

Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

He didn’t push right away.

That almost made it worse.

“Did I do somethin’?” he asked after a moment, quieter now.

Your head snapped back toward him. “What? No—no, it’s not you.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I don’t—there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Chère.”

Just that one word, soft and steady, and something in your chest cracked.

You let out a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“You’ve been with her,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He went still.

You pressed on, because now that it was out, you couldn’t take it back.

“With Rogue. And she’s—she’s her. And I just…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t get why you’d want me when you’ve had that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t angry.

It was… heavy.

And when you finally looked up, Gambit’s expression had changed completely.

No teasing. No smirk. No deflection.

Just something soft. Something real.

“Come here,” he said gently.

You hesitated.

“I’m serious,” he added, stepping closer. “C’mere.”

There was something in his voice—steady, grounding—that made your feet move before your brain caught up.

He didn’t pull you into anything overwhelming.

Just reached for your hands, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm.

“First thing,” he said quietly, “you don’t ever gotta compare yourself to anyone. Not her, not nobody.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles. “Don’t make it any less important.”

You swallowed.

“She’s everything I’m not.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. She’s everything she is. That ain’t the same thing.”

“It feels like it.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Feelings lie sometimes.”

That made your chest ache.

He shifted closer, just enough that you could feel his presence without it being overwhelming.

“I cared about Rogue,” he said, honest and calm. “Ain’t gonna pretend I didn’t.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But that was then,” he continued. “And this—” he gave your hands a small squeeze, “—this is now.”

You looked at him, searching his face for doubt.

You didn’t find any.

“I don’t feel the same with you as I did with her,” he said softly.

That didn’t sound reassuring.

He must’ve seen it in your face, because he shook his head quickly.

“Not worse,” he clarified. “Different. Better, in ways I didn’t expect.”

You blinked.

“How?”

He smiled faintly—not his usual confident grin, but something smaller. More personal.

“You make things quiet.”

“…Quiet?”

“Yeah.” His gaze softened. “With you, I ain’t always thinkin’ three steps ahead. Ain’t always playin’ a part. I can just… be.”

Your throat tightened.

“That don’t happen often for me, chère.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you didn’t say anything.

He stepped a little closer, one hand slipping free from yours to gently tilt your chin up so you had to look at him.

“You think bein’ ‘enough’ means bein’ the loudest, the strongest, the most untouchable person in the room?” he asked.

You hesitated. “…Kind of.”

He shook his head, a soft exhale leaving him.

“Being enough just means being real,” he said. “And you? You’re the realest thing I got right now.”

Your eyes stung.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed lightly under your eye, not quite wiping away anything, just… there. “So let me remind you.”

The words were simple.

But the way he said them—steady, certain, like it wasn’t even a question—made your chest ache in a different way.

“You ain’t gotta earn your place with me,” he continued. “Ain’t somethin’ you can lose ‘cause someone else walks in the room.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It feels like I could.”

“Then I’ll keep tellin’ you you can’t,” he said softly. “As many times as it takes.”

You laughed weakly. “That sounds exhausting.”

“For you, maybe.” His lips curved slightly. “For me? Worth it.”

That did it.

Your composure cracked just a little, your shoulders dropping as the tension you’d been holding finally started to loosen.

He noticed immediately.

“Hey…” His voice softened even more. “C’mere.”

This time, when he pulled you in, you didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like he was making sure you were okay with it every second. One hand settled against your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head, guiding you gently against his shoulder.

It wasn’t tight.

It wasn’t overwhelming.

It was… steady.

Grounding.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, your hands slowly coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt.

“I got you,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Your eyes slipped closed.

For a moment, everything else faded—the comparisons, the doubt, the stupid voice in your head that never seemed to shut up.

There was just this.

Just him.

“You’re not her,” he said quietly, his chin resting lightly against your head. “And that’s a good thing.”

You huffed a small, shaky laugh into his shoulder.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear that as a compliment.”

“Get used to it.” His hand moved slowly up and down your back in a soothing rhythm. “I like you exactly the way you are. Insecurities and all.”

“That’s… a lot to like.”

“Mm.” He pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. “Good thing I got good taste.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your expression softer now. Less guarded.

“Promise?” you asked quietly.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Promise.”

His eyes stayed on the door.

Listening.

Nothing inside.

No movement. No voices. No shift in air.

Still.

Too still.

“…Remy?”

He blinked, like he’d just snapped back into himself.

“Yeah, cher?”

“You okay?”

“Mm.” He smiled easily, reaching past you for the handle. “Peachy.”

You narrowed your eyes a little, but didn’t push.

Remy turned the key.

Slowly.

The lock clicked.

He pushed the door open.

Everything looked normal.

The couch. The small table. Your plants in the window catching the afternoon light.

Nothing out of place.

But the air felt…

off.

Remy stepped inside first.

Always first.

“See?” he said lightly over his shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’—”

A card slid from his sleeve into his hand.

You didn’t notice.

He scanned the room quickly.

Corners. Shadows. Windows.

Still nothing.

“…wrong,” he finished.

You walked in behind him, setting the little paper bag of pastries on the counter.

“I told you,” you said, kicking your shoes off. “You’re just being paranoid.”

“Comes with the charm,” Remy replied.

His voice was smooth.

Too smooth.

He moved casually through the apartment, like he wasn’t checking every inch of it.

Kitchen.

Clear.

Bathroom.

Clear.

Bedroom—

His steps slowed.

The door was open.

He was sure he’d closed it before they left.

Remy leaned against the frame, arms crossing loosely like he was just pausing for no reason at all.

His eyes swept the room.

Bed untouched.

Closet door slightly ajar.

Window—

Closed.

But the latch was wrong.

Again.

Subtle.

But wrong.

Remy’s jaw tightened just slightly.

“Remy?” you called from the kitchen. “Do you want coffee or are you still on your dramatic balcony phase?”

He exhaled slowly.

Then turned back toward you, expression already smoothed over.

“Coffee sounds real good right about now.”

You smiled, already reaching for the kettle again.

He walked back in like nothing had happened.

Like his chest wasn’t tight.

Like his instincts weren’t screaming.

Like someone hadn’t been in their home.

He leaned against the counter, watching you move around the kitchen.

“You bought half the café, huh?” he said.

“It was on sale.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he said I had ‘kind eyes,’ so I feel like I deserved it.”

Remy snorted softly.

“Careful, cher. That’s how scams start.”

You bumped your hip lightly into his.

“Jealous?”

“Of a man givin’ you free pastries?” Remy tilted his head. “Maybe a little.”

You laughed.

And for a moment, it almost felt normal again.

Almost.

Until you turned toward the sink.

And the small plant sitting by the window trembled slightly.

Leaves shifting.

Not from wind.

From you.

Your mutation always reacted when you were upset.

Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“…Remy.”

Your voice was quieter now.

He straightened slightly.

“What is it, cher?”

You pointed toward the living room.

“The window.”

Remy’s gaze snapped over.

The curtain was swaying.

Just barely.

But the window—

It wasn’t latched.

Silence filled the apartment.

Slowly, you looked back at him.

“That wasn’t open before.”

Remy held your gaze for a second.

Two.

Then he smiled.

Easy. Calm. Like nothing in the world was wrong.

“Probably didn’t close it all the way this mornin’,” he said.

Your brows knit together.

“I thought I—”

“Happens.”

He pushed off the counter and walked past you, gently reaching up to shut the window.

Click.

Secure.

His fingers lingered there for just a moment longer than necessary.

Then he turned back to you.

“See?” he said lightly. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

You didn’t look convinced.

But you nodded anyway.

“…okay.”

Remy gave you one more reassuring smile.

Then turned away.

His expression dropped instantly.

Gone.

Replaced with something sharper.

Colder.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom.

Toward the slightly open closet door.

Toward the feeling that hadn’t left his chest since he stepped inside.

Someone had been here.

And they hadn’t taken anything.

Which meant—

They weren’t looking to steal.

They were looking to send a message.

Remy’s hand tightened slightly at his side.

Behind him, you spoke again, softer this time.

“Remy… are you sure everything’s okay?”

He closed his eyes briefly.

Then turned back to you.

Smile back in place.

“Yeah, cher,” he said gently. “I got you.”

And that was the truth.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed.

The floor creaked the second he shifted his weight onto it.

He froze, but you didn’t stir.

Good.

Remy padded quietly into the kitchen, already reaching for the coffee before his brain fully registered it. The little machine sputtered to life with a grumble that sounded like it resented being used this early.

While it worked, Remy tugged a deck of cards from his pocket, the deck seemingly everywhere no matter where he was, even when he slept.

Some habits didn’t retire.

The cards slid smoothly between his fingers, shuffling themselves almost without thought or help. The quiet rhythm of it filled the small kitchen.

Shuffle.

Flip.

Spin.

It was muscle memory at this point.

By the time the coffee finished brewing, the sky outside the window had begun to lighten just slightly.

New Orleans mornings were slow.

The streets below were still mostly empty, save for a couple early walkers and a guy unlocking the metal gate to the cafe down the block.

Remy stepped onto the balcony with his hot mug of coffee. The humid air wrapped around him immediately. He leaned on the railing, watching the city wake up piece by piece.

It should’ve felt peaceful, and it almost did.

But something in his chest still felt tight.

Remy glanced down the street to where the man had been standing and found no one, no eyes watching or lingering, just a newspaper blowing lazily in the wind. He exhaled through his nose.

“Paranoid, Lebeau,” he murmured to himself.

Behind him, the balcony door slid open.

“You’re doing it again.”

Remy didn’t even turn around.

“Doing what?”

“Staring like someone is coming to get you.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

You stood in the doorway in one of his old T-shirts, hair messy from sleep and eyes a bit puffy from rubbing them while trying to wake up.

Remy grinned wide.

“Can’t help it, cher.”

You walked over and leaned beside him on the railing.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The trumpet music today had been replaced by the sound of wind howling.

“You didn’t sleep long,” you said.

“Didn’t need to.”

“That’s not healthy.”

Remy shrugged in response before saying,

“You sound like the professor.”

“I’m serious, Remy.”

You turned slightly toward him, studying his face like you were trying to read him.

“You’ve been tense since yesterday.”

Remy’s smile didn’t budge.

“Have not.”

“You have.”

He took another sip of coffee.

“City’s got a lotta memories, that’s all.”

“Bad ones?”

Remy hesitated before meeting your eyes.

“Some good ones too.”

You seemed to accept that answer for the moment.

Below, the cafe owner dragged a chalkboard sign onto the sidewalk.

The smell of fresh bread drifted faintly up the street.

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Breakfast?”

Remy chuckled.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You grabbed his arm before he could even turn to go back inside.

“Come on.”

“Cher, lemme finish my—”

Too late. You were already tugging him toward the door.

Life with you had a funny way of pulling him forward before he could look over his shoulder.

But as he set his mug down and grabbed his jacket, he let his gaze flick to the window and watch the street for a moment, just to see a car rolling down the street, dark windows, moving too slow.

It didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. But Remy watched it until it disappeared around the corner.

Then you grabbed his hand.

“Remy?”

He blinked.

“Yeah, cher?”

“You coming?”

Remy looked down at your hand wrapped tightly around his before smiling.

“Always.”