When the mattress slowly dipped to your left, as you laid on your stomach with your arms under your head as your pillow, you knew it was Jean. The soft, grey, weighted quilt on the bed mostly covered your pyjama trousers, only coming up to the waistband of the black and dark green checkered material, and Jean, although already dressed for the day, tucked her legs under the quilt as well, quietly humming at the warmth that it gave her. At the sound of her hum, you turned your head away from the window and towards her. Through tired eyes, you watched as she slid down to lay against the pile of pillows at the headboard to comfortably watch you as you slowly woke up. There was a loving gaze on her face as she followed the motion of your right hand rubbing at your eyes before you quickly ran it through your soft, messy, wild, brown curls, to then place it back on the light blue sheet covered mattress. The soft laugh that left Jean's lips as she pushed her hand through your unruly bed hair, only to watch it spring back to where it was before, caused your cheeks to warm up. With a tired groan, having only woken up a few moments ago, you buried your head into your mattress.

     "Good morning," her gentle voice carried over to you and you looked up, seeing the sweet, yet tired, smile on her face.

     "Mornin'," you managed to croak back, your voice deeper than usual, and slower as well.

     There was an angelic glow cast upon Jean's face from where the sunlight had carried through the gap between the half-drawn curtains. Her red hair seemed as if it burned against the crisp white colour of the pillowcases, fanned out and lightly curled at the ends from where her hair was air drying after her shower. The light also shone against the right side of your face. There was a slight heat from the light that came with the early hours of the morning during the first few days of spring. Jean had complained about the half-opened curtains all the time, never understanding why you never closed them fully, or why you would leave them open so much as to allow the bright light to beam in and hit your face—more often than not causing you to wake up annoyed and grumpy, having been awoken before you were ready. Although, every time she did, you would shrug and smile faintly, never really having the nerve to tell her it was because you knew that every time you did wake up, she'd be there beside you, waiting for you to wake up, with the light glowing against her skin and fiery hair.

     "What time is it?" You asked, breathing in deeply as you stretched your body, hearing the pops and cracks as you did.

     "Half-past eight in the morning," she replied in her soft voice, still smiling to herself as she watched you.

     With a groan and slight shake of your head at her response, you shuffled over to her, resting your head on her stomach, wrapping your arms around her waist. "Five more minutes," you mumbled, letting out a sigh as you closed your eyes. Jean laughed faintly and placed her left hand on your head, running her fingers through your hair, her fingernails lightly scratching your scalp which began to lull you back into your sleep.

     "Okay," she said, yawning herself, "five more minutes."

     It wasn't until her breathing shallowed and her heartbeat slowed down that you knew she had fallen asleep as well. The corners of your lips tugged up as you felt her hand slip from your head and drop down onto the mattress with a dull thud. As you slowly lifted your head from her stomach, you saw that Jean's lips were parted as she slept, the faint sound of her inhaling and exhaling filled the room. Carefully, you shifted until your head was propped up on your right hand as you rested on top of the pillow next to her head, watching her sleep peacefully for the next half an hour before she was bound to wake up. Although it might have been deemed creepy to someone else, you couldn't help but admire the way she looked in that moment. She looked peaceful and completely relaxed, her fingers twitching as she dreamed. With a smile, you lifted up her left hand and pressed your lips to her knuckles. The movement caused her to squeeze her fingers around yours as her eyes fluttered open, turning her head to the other side to see your alarm clock, the numbers changing to four past nine.

     With a small stretch and groan, Jean turned her head back to look over at you, a faint blush on her cheeks when she noticed you watching her, rubbing your thumb on the soft skin of her hand. "Were you just going to let me sleep? Were you going to wake me up?"

     With a shrug and a grin, you replied, "Eventually."

     "You're annoying, you know that, right?" She asked in a teasing tone.

     "Yeah, my mum tells me that all the time as well."

     "What about your dad?"

     "Oh, uh, he's not in my life, never has been. It's just been me and my mum." You couldn't quite meet her gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed, and you cleared your throat, letting go of her hand to scratch the back of your neck.

     "Oh, do you not know—?"

     "I know who he is," you told her quickly. "He's just not exactly father material. He doesn't even know I exist."

     Jean stayed quiet after you said that, and she remained quiet for almost twenty seconds. Worried, you looked up at her, she had a look on her face, one you hadn't seen before, not directed towards you, at least. She continued to stare at you, her eyebrows began to furrow in confusion. Your expression mirrored hers. After ten more seconds, she blinked, finally opening her mouth, "Logan's your father?" She asked in a hushed voice, although it sounded more rhetorical than an actual question.

     With a gulp, swallowing the lump that began to form in your throat, you sat up, rather abruptly. Jean sat up as well, her mouth slightly agape. "How did you—?"

     "I'm sorry," she interrupted you, and lifted her hands quickly, covering her mouth in disbelief at her own actions, "I didn't mean to, I swear!"

     "Did you just read my mind?"

     "I swear I wasn't trying to! I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry."

     Sighing, you pushed your hair back from your face again, feeling the curls brush against your forehead as they fell back down to where they were before. "Well, shit," you mumbled, moving to press your back against the pillows that were leaning against the headboard, and you crossed your arms over your chest. "No point in denying that anymore."

     "I'm sorry," she placed her hands over your arm, squeezing gently, worried that you were angry with her.

     "It's okay, Jean."

     "No," she spoke while shaking her head, "it's not. I shouldn't have done that. There was probably a reason why you didn't tell me."

     "I'm not mad at you, Jean, I promise," you told her softly, looking at her with a small smile, trying to ease her worries and nerves. "I just wasn't planning on telling you now, that's all." Jean let out a sigh, biting her bottom lip before she shuffled closer to you and slipped her arms through yours, which were still crossed over your chest, leaning her head on your shoulder. She brought her legs up, hooking them over yours before moving one of her arms to grab the quilt and drape it over both of your legs. Gradually, you leaned your head on hers and stared at the grey quilt, thinking over what had just happened.

-

     It was dark out. It was close to being half-past eleven at night. Most of the younger students were asleep, while the majority of the older ones were hanging out in the common areas or in each other's rooms. You had left the others—namely Jean, Scott, Kurt, Jubilee and Ororo—back in one of the smaller common rooms, to head back to your own room to call your mother, which was something you did almost every night, or whenever you got the chance to. When you got to your room, you didn't bother turning the lights on, but, instead, you left your door open and allowed the light from the hallway to creep in and light up part of the wall that your bed was pressed up against. Even in the dark, you managed to dial your mother's number, and you held the phone up to your ear, waiting for it to connect. The phone rang a few times before it clicked, and you heard the faint mumbles on the other side of the line from the TV that your mother had been watching.

     "Hey, Ma," you greeted with a smile, despite knowing that she couldn't see you.

     "Hello," she replied in a soft voice, "everything okay?"

     You cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck as you slowly began to spin on the desk chair, side to side. "Everything's good, I promise."

     "How's Jean?" She asked, and it was clear in her voice that she was smirking.

     "Ma," you groaned before hearing her laugh, and shuffle about, more than likely tucking her legs underneath herself as she got more comfortable on the small sofa back home.

     "What?" She laughed. "Am I not allowed to ask how my son's girlfriend is?"

     You couldn't help but grin, moving your hand away from your neck to lean on the armrest of the chair. "You are," you answered, still spinning from side to side before stopping, facing your window where your curtains were half pulled shut, "but not in that tone," you finished.

     "What tone?" She stifled her laughter once more.

     "You know what tone, Ma."

     "Mhmm." Her laughter quietened down, but you could still tell that she was smiling. "Is she okay?"

     "Yeah," you nodded slowly before stopping, realising once more that she couldn't actually see you. "She's great."

     "I'm glad. You seem happier with her, she's good for you. She's a good influence."

     "Yeah, uh, that's what I called to talk about," you spoke stiffly, wincing slightly as you thought about what you were going to say.

     "Oh?"

     "She knows... about Dad. I, uh, I told her. I thought it was about time, you know? I didn't think that I should keep it from her. I care about Jean; I really care about her. I thought that she should know." There was a pause on the other line before she breathed out through her nose. "Are you mad?"

     "No, I'm not mad," she replied. "You know how I feel about him. It was a long time ago, it was a very short relationship, we both ended on good terms. He was gone by the time I realised I was pregnant, and I honestly think that was for the best. But, I'm definitely not mad at you. If it was the right time to tell her, then it was your choice, it's up to you who knows who your father is. You know that, right?"

     "You have a say in it too."

     "I made my choice the moment I first knew I had you, and now it's your choice."

     There was silence between the two of you for a few seconds before you swallowed, feeling pressure in your chest as you closed your eyes and dropped your head slightly. Realisation suddenly dawned on you, and your thoughts began to go to the darkest parts of your mind. What if Jean was to now judge you based on who your father was? What if it changed things between the two of you? Would she look at you differently? Would she treat you differently? Would she expect you to be like him? You couldn't lose her; she was one of the best things to have ever happened to you. The pressure in your chest made you feel like you were about to have a heart attack. It hurt, and the pain wasn't going away anytime soon. There was now a lump in your throat as your anxiety continued to spread throughout your body, making your limbs feel heavy, and a disgustingly overwhelming sense of fear from not being able to control the situation just seemed to linger and get thicker as time ticked by.

     "Baby?" Your mother asked quietly, having picked up on the changing of your breathing.

     "I'm scared, Ma," you answered in a hushed voice.

     "About what?"

     "What if this changes things?" The pressure in your chest remained. "What if she thinks differently of me? What if her opinion changes? What if she looks at me differently? I can't lose her. I can't go through that."

     "You know full well that Jean isn't the type of girl to do that, you know she'd never look at you differently just because she now knows who your father is."

     "I love her, Ma... I'm in love with her."

     Your mother let out a deep breath, her voice was low and soft, trying to keep you calm, "Just talk to her. Tell her how you feel, about all of it, about everything. Just talk to her, okay? And get some sleep, it's late."

     "Okay." You nodded. "Okay, I will."

     "Good. Sleep well, okay? I love you."

     "I love you too, Ma. I'll talk to you later."

     "Okay, I'll talk to you later," she repeated before hanging up the phone, leaving you in the darkness of your room.

-

     Jean stared at you as her hands were clasped around her cup of hot tea. The common room was fairly empty, and only a few people were sat on the other side of the room, too engrossed in their own conversation to pay any sort of attention to the both of you. The cup of coffee in front of you had small wisps of steam rise and disappear. You could feel her gaze on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at her. The anxiety that you had felt the night before still lingered, even though you knew your mother was right, Jean wasn't the type of person to judge you just because she now knew who your father was. She knew you as you, and only ever that. But, the feeling of doubt still remained, only getting worse as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, ignoring your coffee, and instead, staring at the lines on the wooden table. Jean placed her hand on top of yours, giving you a soft squeeze, smiling gently at you once you looked up from the table and to her face.

     "It's okay," she spoke quietly.

     "I'm sorry," you whispered.

     "Don't be. I put you in this situation."

     You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her. "He did, technically. You didn't do anything wrong. I was going to tell you about him eventually. I guess this just gave me the push I needed to do it."

     "Did you talk to your mum last night?" She asked, knowing about your nightly phone call to her.

     "Yeah." You nodded, letting out a sigh.

     "What did she say?"

     "That it was my choice to tell people, and that I should talk to you about how I feel, you know, the usual 'mum stuff'."

     "And how do you feel?"

     "Honestly?" You asked, and she nodded. "Scared."

     "Why?"

     "I was worried that you'd think differently of me because of it. I never really knew him, I still don't really know him, I only know him through the stories my mum used to tell me. I don't know what he's like... I don't know him."

     "Did you want to know him? I mean, do you want to get to know him?"

     "I don't know, would there really be a point?"

     "He's your father."

     "He doesn't even know I exist. I doubt he even wanted kids."

     Jean watched as you looked away, out of the window this time, and she frowned, knowing how difficult it must have been for you to say that out loud. "You should try to reach out, just get the message out to him, what happens after that is on him, it won't be on you. I'll be with you the entire time, okay? You don't have to do this alone. Just try to reach out, you'll never know what will happen..." She moved her cup away from herself as she shuffled her chair closer to yours. "Hey," her voice was soft and light as she cupped your cheeks in her hands, turning your face towards hers. "I love you, you know that, right? That's not going to change, I promise."

     "I love you." You nodded faintly; Jean's hands were still holding your face delicately. At your response, she smiled, it reached the corners of her eyes, and she slowly leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips before resting her forehead against yours.