Layla

Chapter Five: The Results

"Do you think Hank is okay?" Layla asked Peter as she peeled apart her chicken with her fork. 

Setting aside a gristly piece of the bland chicken, she continued to cut through her roast chicken while her mind lingered on Hank. For the last three days, Hank had been avoiding Layla after training, and even casually as she wandered the mansion. She tried many times to talk with him, but it was pointless, and the small talk she managed to get from him was cut short. She was beginning to feel that she had done something wrong, but wasn't sure what it could be. The day after her little mishap during training, she caught a glimpse of Charles watching her. While his eyes would glance over at the others fighting, she knew he had shown because of what happened. Meaning, she figured Hank or Raven had told Charles of the incident. To be honest, she had been a bit vexed, but knew either of them were just looking out for her. 

Luckily after that mishap, she hadn't seen Apocalypse or frozen in the middle of training. She still had the occasional nightmare, but she was able to wake herself up or change the dream. One night, she invited Peter inside her mind to avoid any nightmare from developing, and while it had been a fun and interesting experiment, it had drained her. Her body and mind equally felt exhausted, and she reminded herself never to do that unless she would cut it. Now while it has only been a few days, for Layla things seemed to be somewhat normal. How long that would last she wasn't sure, but she hoped the illusions never returned. 

"What do you mean?" Peter asked casually as he sat back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.

Layla had been deep in thought that she startled hearing Peter's voice, and managed to scrape the tip of her fork against the ceramic plate making that screeching noise that sent chills down her spine. Layla set her fork down gently on the plate, rolling her shoulders back as she tried to shake off the chills. She hated that sound forks made against a plate. It was just as bad as hearing nails against a chalkboard. Peter was quiet, and only smirked as he watched Layla with amusing eyes.

 Sitting up, Layla hooked her legs around her chair, folding her hands over one another on top of the table as she directed her attention to Peter. When she noticed his amused look, she stopped herself, asking him what was wrong. He only shook his head telling her it had been nothing. She shot Peter an unsure look, and she could feel her cheeks flame. It happened anytime Layla was unaware or confused about Peter's antics. She especially hated it when that mischievous smile would be plastered across his face for no reason when she was around him because she wasn't sure what she had done. If she asked him, he would only give her the same response he had just given her now, which was that mischievous smile and gleam in his dark eyes. 

"I don't know," Layla began as she raked a hand through her long hair. "Maybe, I'm overthinking it, but I feel like Hank has been avoiding me. And I don't know why. I don't think I've done anything." She asked more to herself than Peter. Her eyebrows were drawn tightly together, and a small crease appeared on her forehead as she was deep in thought. She kept replaying previous events in her head trying to figure out if she had said or done something wrong, but there was nothing. 

Peter unfolded his hands and leaned up against the table, sliding his hand out to Layla. He grabbed her hand with gentle fingers, clasping their hands together. Keeping his eyes on her, Peter traced his thumb lightly over her knuckles. 

"I don't think you've done anything. What I do think, is that you're overthinking things. I've been in every training class with you, and I haven't heard you say anything that could steer Hank away." 

"Really?" Layla asked quizzically as she shot him a look. "Half the time after class you're goofing off with the others." 

"Well," Peter shrugged. "Not all the time."