Remy is definitely not made for cuddles.

He's meant for fire and heat and passion. For burning in the night. For teases during the day. Not for snuggles and warmth and quiet giggles and platonic touches.

But here he is with Rogue, curling up with her on the rainy days in the library or on the couch in the media room or in the big comfy chair in their room. They cuddle. They talk. Simple pleasures.

She watches his head bend intently over a book he’d never been interested in and can't help but think he does it for her.