Charles sat motionless at his desk, uncharacteristically still. Normally, he'd lose himself in paperwork, in plans—anything to keep his mind occupied. But now? The weight of his doubts pressed down harder than any stack of files ever could. He tried to focus on the dream that had once fueled him—mutants and humans, side by side—but the same bitter thought kept resurfacing: "What if peace is just the pause before war? Every time, it ends the same way..."

With a quiet sigh, he set down his pen and slumped back in his chair. The wooden surface of the antique desk felt cool beneath his palms as he stared at the framed photograph of the original X-Men team on his desk. His thoughts drifted to his trusted friend. They didn't always see eye to eye, but they shared the same core hope—a fair world for mutants. That solidarity had kept him going... until now.

He didn't even hear the door open over the sound of his own troubled thoughts. When he finally looked up, they were leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that knowing look of theirs. The soft clearing of their throat snapped him back to reality. Heat rushed to his cheeks, but he smoothed his expression with practiced ease.

"Oh, hey," Charles murmured, biting his lip briefly before forcing a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. The scent of old books and the faint aroma of the coffee he'd abandoned hours ago filled the study as the silence stretched between them.