Us Mutants Prefer the Term "Special"

x4x

"Welcome to the new age, to the new age. Welcome to the new age, to the new age. Whoa, whoa, whoa I'm radioactive, radioactive—"

The music was cut off when there was a sound that suggested something heavy was dropped to the floor.

I saw the red sound bounce off the wall slightly, before we even entered.

When we did, I recognized the broad shoulders and huge muscles, even though his shirt was off now. His tanned skin glistened with sweat and he was in the process of picking up a huge punching bag. He noticed the steps in his own gym and turned to face us.

He had a beautiful face with brown, squinted eyes. His nose was bloated and crooked, but I didn't care. My mind was clouded and my focus was entirely on him. He was beautiful.

Although most of me wanted him to think the same, a part of me was hesitant.

"I thought you'd be the best candidate for helping Aspen," Maxwell expressed. What was he getting at? Can't he read my mind and tell that I didn't want this?

"With?" The boy asked.

"Any and everything she needs," Maxwell answered, shooting me a smile.

"When?" he breathed, tearing his eyes away from mine to reattach the huge bag to the ceiling.

"Right now."

"But sir—"

"I'm sure you can spare a period," he was told lastly before the Professor left. The boy sat on the ground and then started to remove the athletic tape from his knuckles.

"Don't stop on my account," I told him and he slowed down with the unraveling. "You don't have to get to know me and I don't have to know you."

"Well too late for that, don't you think?" he replied. I tilted my head. "You're at the Academy, so it's not like you can go unnoticed."

"I have for two years," I announced.

"Well," he started. He stood up and faced the punching bag. "Lucky you."

He started to beat the bag and I saw sparks of red color flying out at each hit and ingle of the metal chains.

"Are you...mad or something?" I asked him. Each sound left a trace and I think I could interpret it by now.

"Why would you say that?" he grunted.

"Because—" I didn't want to admit to seeing colors for several reasons; it'd make me look crazy, I'd admit to some lame power, and it would start a whole new conversation on specialty. "Happy guys don't beat up inanimate obstacles."

"Well I can't exactly train with a live one," he admitted, breathing heavily.

"Well then good thing this isn't a training period," I mumbled sarcastically. He stopped his drill and looked over to me.

"Everything here is a training period," he countered, making me shudder as his voice boomed against the walls. It should've been scary, but it wasn't for me. I saw something in him. He was...mysterious but behind his rough exterior, there was something else. I walked over to him and grabbed the punching bag. He stopped himself from the next hit because I was there.

"Not to me," I told him and his eyes slightly narrowed at me in an epiphany of some sort. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't here to be...trained for some fight or military thing. I was here because I was sent away and I still wasn't over or sure as to why. And here was this man who looked to be maybe a year older than me, who seemed to be nothing but about this program. Maxwell must have teamed us up for him to convince me of the Academy's duties, or maybe so I could teach him otherwise. I held out my hand to him. "Aspen Duchannes."