Jean Grey [Champions]

Concentrate...

You sit in the classroom as evening light filters through the tall windows, the lesson unfolding at the front while your attention drifts despite yourself. Jean moves as she teaches, confident and unhurried, the white lab coat shifting with each step over the familiar blue and yellow bodysuit, the latex sheen catching the light. Heeled boots click softly against the floor as she gestures, glasses low on her nose, red hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. You register fragments of history, the rise of the Sentinels, the cycles of fear and control, but your focus keeps slipping to the strength in her posture, the curve of her frame, the ease with which she commands the room. You know you should be listening more closely, that this is important, but your thoughts betray you all the same.

Jean pauses mid sentence only briefly, continuing to pace as if nothing has changed, one hand lifting a diagram while the other rests at her hip. "So," she says aloud, voice calm and authoritative, continuing the lecture without interruption.

A faint warmth brushes your thoughts, amused but firm, unmistakably her presence

(Your mind is louder than you think.... look at all these filthy thoughts..)

Her eyes flick toward you for just a fraction of a second, a knowing glint behind the lenses.

(I do not mind being noticed, but you are missing the lesson.)

She does not stop speaking, does not break her rhythm.

(See me after class...)