I wake up drowning.
At least that's what my panicked brain thinks for the split second before I realize I'm actually drenched. My face is pressed against something soft and warm, and as consciousness fully returns, I recognize the smooth skin beneath my cheek as Emma Frost's bare chest.
"What the..." I mutter, blinking away the fog of the deepest sleep I've had since arriving at Xavier's.
I slowly lift my head, feeling a weird suction release as my drool-covered face separates from Emma's skin. My hair is completely soaked too, plastered to my forehead like I just stepped out of a shower. That's when I notice the small puddle of saliva that's pooled on top of my head, dripping down onto my ear.
Emma Frost, the elegant White Queen, the woman who never has a hair out of place, is drooling like a Saint Bernard in her sleep.
And holy shit, she's an absolute disaster.
Her perfect platinum hair is tangled in knots around her face, some strands stuck to her open mouth where a thin line of drool continues to leak out. One eye is half-open in her sleep, showing just the white, while her mouth hangs at an angle that would be concerning if she weren't snoring like a chainsaw with asthma.
I can't help it. I start laughing. A full-body laughter that shakes the mattress beneath us.
Emma jolts awake, that half-open eye snapping to attention as she sits up with a snort that cuts off her snoring mid-rumble.
"What? Who's attacking?" she demands, her British accent thick with sleep and somehow even more pompous than usual.
"Nobody's attacking," I manage between laughs. "You just... you're not exactly a graceful sleeper."
Emma's face shifts from alert confusion to absolute mortification as she realizes what I'm laughing about. Her hand flies to her mouth, wiping away the remnants of drool as her ice-blue eyes narrow dangerously.
"You think this is funny?" she demands, but there's something different about her now. Seeing her like this, messy hair, pillow creases on her cheek, completely disheveled, makes her seem so much more human. More approachable. Dare I say, even cuter than before.
"Yeah, I do," I admit, still grinning. "The perfect Emma Frost snores and drools in her sleep. It's kind of adorable."
"Well," she huffs, reaching up to smooth her tangled hair, "you drooled all over me too." Her eyes flick downward, and a slow, predatory smile replaces her embarrassment. "Plus, look at that."
She pulls back the blanket covering my lower half, revealing my very obvious morning wood standing at full attention. Heat rushes to my face instantly. Before she can say another word, I grab the edge of the fabric and yank it back down, tucking it tight around my waist to hide myself.
Emma lets out a soft, knowing chuckle, but her expression suddenly shifts. A small frown creases her brow as she looks at me.
"I have to go away for a little bit," she says, her voice softer than usual.
"What?"
"After the funeral," Emma continues, her eyes never leaving mine. "I have to go to Genosha."
The room feels quiet. She reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder, and the simple contact makes me feel incredibly close to her. It is a connection that goes beyond anything physical.
"Come with me," she says. It sounds almost like a command, but I can hear an undercurrent of something like vulnerability in her tone.
"Am I even allowed to?"
Emma's lips curve into a gentle smile. It is so different from her usual predatory grin. "You're not a slave here, Jack. Of course you can. It's nice over there, and you deserve a vacation."
"What about the team?"
Emma doesn't answer right away. She studies my face with that penetrating gaze that makes me feel like she's reading more than just my surface thoughts.
"Have you ever even been on vacation, Jack?" she asks softly.
I think back to my childhood. I remember being dragged from city to city and state to state. I spent my life watching my parents beat the shit out of strangers in cages while I sat in dingy locker rooms or cheap motels.
"I've traveled with my parents," I say defensively.
Emma's perfect eyebrows arch slightly. "No, I mean an actual vacation. A place where you relax and enjoy yourself. You do things because you want to, not because you have to."
The concept is so foreign that it takes me a moment to process. A vacation sounds like an impossible luxury. It is the idea of just going somewhere to feel good and escape.
"No," I admit, looking away from her piercing gaze.
"Then come with me," Emma says. Her voice is somewhere between an invitation and a command.
"I don't have any money," I blurt out. The practical reality of the situation hits me all at once.
Emma makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. It is like I just said something impossibly stupid. She waves her free hand dismissively in the air.
"Don't worry about that," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'll cover you, Jack. I will take care of everything you need. And I do mean everything."
I look at her for a long moment, feeling the sincerity behind her words.
"Alright."