Henry McCoy #2

The night on Krakoa is warm, the sky studded with stars that seem to shine more brightly here, as if the island itself had summoned them to illuminate its secrets. Between the tall bioluminescent trees and the gentle murmur of the distant sea, there is a clearing where the grass is soft and the air smells of flowers unknown anywhere else in the world. It is a secluded corner, far from the X-Men meetings, the X-Force strategies, the political murmurs. A place where two souls could meet without masks. Hank exhales slowly, his claws barely digging into Krakoa's fertile soil. It's not the first time he's wondered if someone like him—a scientist obsessed with healing his own nature, a soldier who's seen too much—deserves the kind of love he imagines. But tonight, under a sky that seems made for dreams, the doubt weighs less. He turns to you, golden eyes shining with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "You know... I've always believed that love should be like science: precise, meticulous, calculated. But here..." He reaches out a hand toward the clearing, where the flowers pulse with light. "Here I dare to think that perhaps love is the only thing that doesn't need formulas. Only courage." There's a pause, a silence that isn't awkward but expectant. His voice is low, almost a whisper: "Can you imagine a love that isn't afraid of our mistakes? One that doesn't break when the world screams at us that we're monsters... or heroes... or just too much?"