The clinking of glasses and the slow hum of jazz set the mood in the dim, upscale bar near Oxford's old quarter. It was the kind of place where ideas flirted with whiskey, and scholars disappeared behind smoke and silence.
Ryan sat at the corner of the bar, fingers cradling a tumbler of Scotch, untouched. He wore a stylish, modern outfit with a subtle blend of elegance and authority, with the top button undone. Just enough class to blend in. Just enough casual edge to intrigue. His eyes weren't on his drink, though.
They were on her.
At the far end of the room, a young blonde woman sat alone in a booth, nursing a half-finished glass of wine. Her dress was modest to blend in with the young Cambridge crowd, but the way it hugged her frame hinted at a beauty she didn't flaunt. Her strawberry-blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, her lips painted with a subtle coral hue. But her eyes—blue, sharp, and intelligent—held tension. Frustration. That unmistakable burn of jealousy masked by polite disinterest, watched the man at the bar.
Charles Xavier.
Ryan knew the scene before it unfolded as he had seen this many times while rewatching the X-Men First Class movie in his previous life. Charles was deep into his practiced charm routine—leaning close and smiling again, speaking animatedly to a brunette in a red dress. His fingers brushed the woman's wrist as he complimented her eyes, whispering evolutionary theories that danced on the line between seductive and academic. Raven's jaw tensed just slightly. She wasn't surprised. Charles flirted like he breathed—but tonight, it stung more than usual. Maybe it was how effortlessly that girl giggled. Maybe it was the fact that Raven had spent the last hour trying to be invisible.
Ryan waited.
He didn't approach while she stared. He waited until she looked down, as Charles and the burnette stood up to leave, then he stood and walked over without hesitation.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the empty stool beside her.
Raven glanced at him, startled—but not annoyed. A part of her wanted the distraction. The relief.
She shook her head. "No. Go ahead."
He sat. Close, but not imposing.
"Didn't mean to interrupt. You just looked like someone who might enjoy better company than the bottom of that glass," he said, nodding to her untouched drink.
Raven raised an eyebrow. "Is that your line?"
"No," he said, smirking. "If it were, I'd be terrible at this."
She cracked the faintest smile. "Lucky for you, I like terrible lines."
He chuckled, nodding toward the other side of the room. "Boyfriend?" he asked casually.
Raven followed his gaze—Charles laughing and leaving with the brunette, leaning a bit too close.
"Brother," she said after a pause. "Sort of."
"Ah," Ryan replied, swirling his Scotch. "Must be exhausting, being the third wheel to someone that charming."
She snorted. "You have no idea."
There it was.
The crack.
The softness beneath her surface.
Ryan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the bar, giving her his full attention. "Well, for what it's worth, I find you infinitely more interesting than whoever he's quoting Darwin to right now."
Raven blinked, caught off-guard. "You don't even know me."
He shrugged. "Not yet. But I'm here, aren't I?"
Silence stretched for a moment—but it was warm, not awkward.
She turned toward him slightly, her posture relaxing. "So… What's your name? "
"Ryan."
"Just Ryan?"
He smiled. "For now."
She nodded slowly. "Raven."
"I like that. A rare name. Dark wings."
Her lips parted, surprised by the metaphor. It was just wordplay. And yet... it made her pulse jump.
"So… what's your story? You don't sound like you're from around here," she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"American. Business consultant," Ryan answered easily. "Just visiting. London meetings get dull, so I come up here to pretend I'm more cultured than I am."
He shook his head. "American. Just visiting. London meetings get dull. So, just passing through. I came here for the jazz. But now," he leaned forward just slightly, "I think the view might be better on this side of the room."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "Smooth."
Ryan shrugged. "You look like someone who deserves to hear something sincere. I figured I'd try being honest."
Raven smirked. "And hitting on lonely girls in bars is part of the routine?"
"Only when they look like they need to be reminded they're the most beautiful woman in the room."
She laughed—a real one, this time. "Are you always like this? You're really going for it."
Ryan smiled. "Only if you want me to."
Their eyes locked.
Something subtle shifted.
She looked down at her glass again, then lifted it in a quiet toast.
"To bad habits," she said.
"To better company," Ryan countered, clinking his glass against hers.
They drank.
Time slowed.
One drink became two. Then three.
The bar dimmed as the hours passed, but Ryan never once glanced away. He didn't talk about her past. Didn't ask about Charles. He only talked about books, art, the strange quirks of British weather—normal things that she wanted to talk about. Human things.
And Raven soaked it in.
For once, she wasn't a sidekick or a shadow. She was seen.
And when they finally stood and stepped outside into the chilly night air, she didn't hesitate when he offered his arm.
She blinked. "You're... really good at this."
"I'm good at recognizing beauty when I see it," he said without irony.
That made her laugh, soft and genuine.
They stopped at the edge of the university garden, the air thick with anticipation.
"You live nearby?" she asked.
"Penthouse suite," he replied with a wink. "I like the view."
Raven paused at the edge of the curb, lips parting slightly as she considered the moment.
Then she tightened her grip on his hand.
"Show me."
And with that, they vanished into the dark together—two strangers, one night, no pasts.
Only heat.
Only the promise of something new.
To be continued...