POV: Jean Grey
Jean had spent most of her life living with the illusion that she understood people. Her telepathy had made it effortless to believe so- every unspoken thought, every pulse of fear or affection, arrived to her unbidden. She saw others not only as they wished to be seen, but as they truly were, in the trembling recesses of their minds. Jean would be a liar not to admit that she found her gift, at first, intoxicating. To know. To feel. To be spared the misunderstandings that fractured ordinary relationships.
But over time, that same clarity became something colder. Knowing a person's thoughts meant that no one could ever surprise her for long. She could anticipate affection before it was spoken, betrayal before it was committed. And though that power made her special, it had also left her profoundly alone. What meaning does intimacy hold when the mystery of another person is always an open book?
Her telepathy blurred the boundaries that defined self and other. She carried fragments of countless minds within her; echoes of fear, joy, and pain that were not hers but lived inside her nonetheless. Sometimes she wondered where Jean ended and the world began. People called her empathetic, but empathy was too small a word for it. compassion would be the optimistic phrase for it. No, no, it felt worse than that. It was invasion. Connection, yes, but also contamination.
Then there came Adonai.
For the first time, her mind met silence. Not resistance, not shielding, no texture of emotion, no hum of thought- simply nothing. A blank, unbroken space where her awareness slipped and found no purchase. It startled her. It unsettled her. It felt almost… sacred. In him she found a boundary she could not cross, a reminder that some part of existence remained fundamentally private, inaccessible even to her.
That silence made her aware of how much she had forgotten the value of distance. The necessity of not knowing. There was something profoundly human about it, this inability to see into another soul, this act of trusting without proof.
Perhaps that was why he lingered in her thoughts. Not because he was charming or reckless or beautiful, though he was all of those things, but because he restored to her what her power had quietly stolen: the experience of uncertainty. Of curiosity. Of standing before another person and realizing that their inner world would never fully belong to her.
For the first time in years, Jean found herself wondering, not knowing.
And that, she thought, might be the truest form of connection she had ever felt.
Perhaps that was the reason she was here.
Since the incident three days ago, Adonai had withdrawn completely. He spent nearly all his time either in his room or the Danger Room, training with single-minded obsession. Jean rarely saw him speak to anyone. The only exception seemed to be Alison, Jean had seen her stepping out of his room a few times, and occasionally Professor Hank, though she couldn't imagine what they discussed.
Jean suspected it was their fault that he was avoiding the others. They had come on too strong that day. When she tried to see it from his perspective, it wasn't hard to understand. He was new, likely uncertain about his place here, about the strange life of mutants he had just stepped into. He had probably only wanted to connect, to make friends, and instead, the very people he reached out to had turned on him, accusing him and criticizing him for trying to have a little fun.
No wonder he had shut himself off.
Even Scott had later admitted, with visible regret, that they might have handled it poorly, that they could have explained the risks to him more calmly instead of confronting him like a threat. Jean could see it weighed on him. Scott carried that quiet sense of duty that made every mistake feel personal. Making another mutant feel unwelcome, especially one still learning what it meant to be different, was not something he could easily forgive himself for.
Still, Scott was stubborn. He didn't know how to apologize, and technically, he hadn't been wrong to warn Adonai. His frustration had come from concern, but it hadn't sounded that way at the time.
Jean, at least, refused to let pride get in the way. She wanted to apologize, to tell Adonai that he wasn't unwelcome here, that the X-Men were supposed to stand together, not drive one another away. If nothing else, she wanted him to know that someone still cared enough to try.
She stood before the door and prepared herself to knock.
"Then you go like, 'Do you know what happens to a toad when it's struck by lightning?' and he looks at you all confused, and then you say, 'Same thing that happens to everything else,' and then boom you strike him with lightning," Jean heard Adonai say as she stood outside his dorm room.
Who is he even talking to? she wondered, raising an eyebrow. She hesitated a moment before opening the door with a gentle telekinetic push.
The sight that greeted her was almost enough to make her gasp. The room looked like a small hurricane had passed through it. Papers filled with scribbles and equations were scattered across the floor, the desk was buried under books and coffee mugs, and half the furniture was buried under piles of clothes; some clean, some clearly not. An open energy drink sat on the desk beside an unwashed plate and what looked suspiciously like an unfinished pizza box. The faint smell of cologne mixed with ink and dust. Jean stared for a few seconds in disbelief. She had assumed Adonai was messy, but this looked like the aftermath of a failed science experiment.
Jean had seen many rooms at the Institute, but nothing quite this chaotic.
Her eyes then moved to the two figures in the room. Adonai was in grey sweatpants and a matching crop top, his hair slightly damp, suggesting he had been training. Across from him stood Storm, looking every bit the picture of restraint, though her expression made it clear that her patience had been tested thoroughly.
"That has to be the worst line I've ever heard," said Storm, sounding pained. Jean couldn't blame her. It was hard to imagine anyone saying that line without cringing. It was atrocious.
Adonai, however, looked delighted. "Nah, trust me on this, teach," he said with absolute conviction. "It's going to be a total girl-boss moment."
The silence that followed was excruciating. Storm's face betrayed the quiet resignation of someone who had lost all hope, while Adonai grinned like a man feeding off the discomfort of others. He thrived in awkwardness the way most people thrived on oxygen.
Deciding to intervene before Storm completely gave up on humanity, Jean cleared her throat. The sound made Storm look visibly relieved, like a prisoner spotting the gate to freedom. Jean was fairly sure she heard a whispered thank God under her breath.
"Jean!" Storm said quickly, clearly seizing the opportunity. "I am glad you're here. I'll leave you both to your privacy."
"Leave?" Adonai said, sounding aggrieved. "You will not even stay to hear my final arguments for why the line is, in fact, cinematic genius?"
"I think I've heard enough of your arguments for today," Storm replied dryly. "You've been presenting them to me for the past twenty minutes."
"Clearly not enough," he said, undeterred. "Stay ten more minutes and I swear I can convince you to say it the next time you fight a guy with toad mutations."
"I'll… consider it," Storm said, in a tone that made clear she wouldn't. "But not today. I have matters to attend to. Perhaps you can share your creative vision with Jean instead, she came all the way to see you."
Without waiting for a response, Storm brushed past Jean toward the door. As she passed, she whispered, "Good luck," in a tone one would reserve for soldiers heading to the front lines.
Jean stared after her, then looked at Adonai. "What on earth did you do to her? I've never seen Storm look that traumatized."
Storm was rarely flustered. Whatever had just happened must have been spectacular.
Adonai leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. "Nothing much," he said with mock innocence. "Just tried to help her improve her catchphrases. You'd think she'd appreciate free creative consulting. Honestly, I think she left because she realized I was right. Deep down, everyone wants to sound cool when they strike a toad with lightning."
Jean somehow doubted that was the case. What normal person thinks about striking a toad with lightning?
She folded her arms. "You've been here what, a few days? And you've already driven Storm to the brink of insanity."
Adonai raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing," Jean said, exasperated. "She looked like she was about to file for early retirement."
"She's just resistant to innovation," he replied, picking up a pen from his desk and spinning it between his fingers. "I'm trying to rebrand mutant combat with flair. Give it some personality. You people always take yourselves so seriously."
Says the guy who was treating Ping-pong like a death battle.
"Because we're usually trying not to die," Jean said dryly.
"That's no excuse for being boring," he said with a shrug. "Like the great philosopher Megamind once said, the one thing that separates the good from the great is presentation."
She somehow doubted there was a philosopher who goes by the name Megamind.
Jean sighed and sat on the edge of the desk, brushing aside a few loose papers. "So let me guess, next you'll tell me that line was secretly profound?"
"Exactly." Adonai smiled.
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am," he said. "It's a double entendre."
"Double… what?" she asked, confused. How can saying that horrible line before smiting a Toad with lighting be double entendre?
"Double entendre," he repeated casually, leaning back in his chair. "You know, phrases with two meanings." He gestured idly with his hand, as though explaining a basic law of physics. "For example, when I'm holding a rooster and someone says, 'Nice cock, bro!' it could mean two different things."
Jean froze. For a second, her brain seemed to short-circuit. She just stared at him, expression blank, unable to decide whether to laugh, scold him, or walk straight out of the room.
Adonai tilted his head slightly, amused by her silence. "See? Perfect example. Double meaning. Language is art, Jean."
"First of all," began Jean with a sigh. "I know what a double entendre is. And I'm not sure that applies to whatever nonsense you were saying."
"It makes perfect sense to me," he said as if that settled all matters.
Jean remembered the professor's advice- never argue with fools, they will bring you down to their level and defeat you with experience. So she kept quiet. Adonai, of course, seemed to take her silence as a victory.
She regarded him carefully. The boy had only been at the Institute for a few days, yet he had already managed to disrupt its rhythm. Wherever he went, noise followed. Jean's first impression was that he was arrogant and vain. He called the professor "Baldy" within minutes of meeting him. He carried himself as if the world existed for his amusement. His disregard should have infuriated her, yet his confidence carried a strange magnetism. People who should have known better found themselves laughing at his side. His philosophy was pure hedonism, pleasure above all else. His way of living, seeking pleasure above all, seemed childish to her, even dangerous.
Yet something about him refused to align with that image. She had noticed the quiet things he did when no one was looking. She had seen him training alone at three in the morning, driven by his promise to Rogue, someone he barely knew. She had seen how he encouraged Kurt, coaxing the shy boy out of his shell with patience and wit. Against her better judgment, Jean had slipped into Kurt's memory of that night.
Jean had seen more than she should have. She told herself she only looked into Kurt's memory for safety, to ensure no one had followed them that night. But she knew that was not the truth. She had violated a boundary. She saw Adonai through Kurt's eyes. The wild drive through the city, the laughter that filled the car, the dim light of the club. He seemed larger there, in his element, alive in a way that made the rest of the world seem gray. What startled her most was the care beneath the chaos: the way he watched Kurt, ensuring he never felt abandoned or mocked. His method was reckless, his warmth disguised as mischief, but it was warmth nonetheless.
Then came the dance.
The memory unfurled with an otherworldly pulse. The crowd laughed and shouted, a delirious sea of faces caught in the same rhythm. And at the center of it all stood Adonai. There was something unearthly in his presence, a vitality that seemed to pull everyone into its orbit. His movements were sharp, deliberate, almost feverish. He laughed, a rich sound that filled the hall, and for a moment the air itself seemed to move with him.
The scene had unsettled her.It was beautiful and unsettling at once, like witnessing something that should not belong to this world. The music rose, the crowd shouted, and still he danced, tireless and wild-eyed. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between ecstasy and defiance.
Even now, when she thought of him, she saw that image. Adonai in motion, laughing and leading the dance, the room caught in his orbit. It unsettled her. It thrilled her.
"You are staring," he said, amused.
"Oh, s-sorry," Jean stammered, heat rushing to her face.
He chuckled. When Jean met his eyes, she noticed the dark circles beneath them, the faint weariness that made him look older.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, watching her. "You're spacing out again."
"Yes, I'm fine," Jean said quickly. "Look, I wanted to apologize for that incident. We didn't mean it in a bad way. We were just worried."
"What are you talking about?" He asked, genuinely puzzled. "What incident?"
"You know," Jean said slowly. "When we argued about you sneaking out with Kurt…"
"Ah, that." Realization crossed his face. "But why apologize for that?"
Jean blinked, caught off guard. So he wasn't angry after all.
"Because," she said hesitantly, "it wasn't right to gang up on you like that. We could've handled it better. We assumed the worst."
"You're making it sound dramatic," he said with a small laugh. "It's not that deep. We just had different views. People disagree all the time. No reason to apologize. Still, it's kind of you."
"I thought," Jean began, "maybe you were angry and avoiding us."
"You're overthinking way too much," he said lightly. "But I can see why you'd think that. I've just been busy these past few days. I wanted to master my ability quickly and start working on solutions for Rogue's powers. I have some ideas."
He walked to the table and poured water into a glass from the bottle.
It seems I was worried needlessly, thought Jean. Adonai is far too strong-willed to be shaken by a simple argument.
"Is that why you look like a zombie?" she heard herself say. She found it oddly charming that he would exhaust himself helping others.
"Probably," he said with a shrug. "I haven't slept in a while. And spare me the lecture on the importance of sleep. I get enough of that from Storm."
Jean was, in fact, about to do exactly that. But it seems she was beaten to a punch. Typical of Storm to worry about the students' sleeping habits.
"Is that why she was here?" Jean asked, curiosity slipping through.
"That, and to convince me to attend classes," he said.
"Oh right," Jean said, remembering. "Why are you allowed to skip classes with impunity anyway?"
"Well, someone's jealous," Adonai said playfully. "I spoke with Baldy about it. Told him I'm in a critical stage of my development and need time to hone my abilities. After a long discussion, he agreed to give me a week. Storm wasn't thrilled."
"Understandably," said Jean. "She knows that forgoing sleep for training isn't healthy. And you shouldn't neglect your studies just because you have powers."
"Give me a break," he said, still lighthearted. "This world of Nen is just way too fun. And it's not like I'm neglecting my studies. Storm's giving me homework. I had to write an essay, for fuck's sake. I think it's her way of punishing me for skipping her classes."
"That does sound like Storm," Jean said, laughing. "She can be strict about things like that."
Storm was kind and inspiring, but she demanded excellence and maximum effort. Every student knew that.
"Tell me about it," he said. "She gave me a C for my essay, said it was insufficient. That paper was practically perfect."
Jean doubted that. She could easily imagine him scribbling for five minutes before running back to his training.
"And how long is this perfect thing of yours?" she asked, amused.
"About twelve inches fully erect," he said with a sly grin. "Varies when it's relaxed."
It took Jean a second to process the joke. When she did, she blushed.
"My fault for thinking you were mature," she muttered.
"You're blushing over that?" he said, grinning wider. "You people are too sheltered here. You should go out sometimes."
Jean didn't respond. It was easier than admitting she found his bluntness oddly refreshing. Most men either fawned over her or treated her like some fragile ideal. Adonai, on the other hand, spoke to her like a person.
"By the way," she said, shifting the topic, "can you stop calling the Professor 'Baldy'? It's rude and inconsiderate."
"As you wish, my lady," he said, bowing with exaggerated grace.
Jean blinked, surprised by how easily he complied.
"Can you bring me a leaf from the tree?" He asked suddenly.
"A leaf?" she repeated, confused, and seeing him nod, she simply indulged his unusual request.
Her eyes turned toward the trees outside the window, and with a subtle movement of her hand, her telekinesis reached out. A single leaf detached from its branch, floated through the open air, and slipped gently into her grasp. She guided it toward Adonai, who took it without so much as a glance.
Jean watched as Adonai laid the leaf gently atop a glass of water, letting it float on the surface.
"What are you doing?" she asked, intrigued.
"Trying to find out my affinity," he said. "For the last couple of days, I've been practicing my Ren and Gyo to make my divination test as pronounced as possible. Once I find out my affinity, I can make concrete plans."
Jean understood only half of what he said. He had explained Ren to her once as some kind of outward projection of energy, but she had no idea what he meant by Gyo, affinity, or divination test. He had a habit of using foreign words without explaining them, as if he came from another time.
"What is Gyo?" she asked curiously.
"A concentration of aura into one specific body part," he explained. "Now observe."
He placed both hands around the glass. Jean felt it then, the same powerful sensation from that night. That dense, electric force he called Ren. But this time, it was stronger, fuller, more controlled.
The air grew heavy as his aura spread, faint ripples distorting the light around the glass. The water began to tremble. Then it started to rise, its volume increasing slowly as if more liquid was being created from thin air. Jean's eyes widened.
The clear water turned dark red, deepening shade by shade until it looked like diluted blood. The floating leaf began to move in a slow, deliberate circle on the surface, as though drawn by an invisible current. Tiny dark specks appeared in the red liquid, impurities forming from nothing.
She could barely speak. "What did you do? Did you change the property of the water?"
"Interesting," he said calmly, eyes fixed on the glass. "Jean, try and see how it tastes."
She looked at him, bewildered. "You want me to taste it?"
He nodded once.
She hesitated, then dipped a finger into the glass and touched it to her tongue. Her expression shifted immediately. "It tastes... tannic," she said slowly. "Like wine."
Adonai mirrored her gesture, dipping his own finger and tasting the liquid. His face lit up with unrestrained amazement. "Amazing," he said quietly, voice filled with wonder. "I have managed to turn water into wine. Do you know what this means?"
"That you're the second coming of Jesus?" Jean said dryly.
"Hmm? Oh yes, that too," he replied absently, as if her joke had only half registered. "More importantly, it means that I am a Specialist."
"Huh?" Jean said eloquently.
Adonai began pacing across the room, his steps quick and restless. His voice carried a thrill that filled the space.
"The water increased in volume, that means I have Enhancement affinity," he said, his eyes shining. "Then the color and taste changed, which points to emission and transmutation. The leaf started moving, that's manipulation, and the impurities forming in the water show conjuration affinity as well. That combination is impossible unless…" He stopped mid-sentence, his grin widening. "Unless I'm a Specialist. My Hatsu must allow me to use every aura type at full efficiency. The potential, Jean, it's limitless. Absolutely limitless!"
Jean had no idea what half of that meant, but his joy was impossible to miss. He spoke faster, hands moving as though trying to contain the excitement bursting out of him. There was something unguarded in the way he smiled, pure and unrestrained.
He kept talking rapidly, gesturing with both hands, his voice lifting with genuine joy. Then, without warning, he jumped, laughing, spinning on his heels like a child overcome with triumph. "Whoo!" he shouted, grinning wide.
Then, suddenly, he jumped, letting out a loud whoop of laughter. The sound startled her, it was raw, delighted, almost boyish. He spun around once, still laughing, then turned toward her and, without warning, pulled her into a hug.
"Adonai–!" she gasped, but he had already lifted her off the ground. He spun her in a circle, laughter bubbling out of him, bright and unfiltered. For a moment, the room seemed lighter. Jean couldn't help it, she started laughing too. His joy was infectious, impossible to resist.
He finally set her down, still grinning, breathless with laughter. "Sorry about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish but glowing.
Jean couldn't stop laughing, which made him laugh even harder in turn.
"This is incredible, Jean," he said, eyes bright with wonder.
She smiled, warmth rising in her chest. There was something disarming in seeing him like this. No arrogance, no teasing, just genuine happiness. It was simple and sincere, almost childlike.
And for that moment, she could only share it with him.