1003
The Count had spent the rest of the evening in his counterpart's apartment, rifling through objects left and right. By sunrise he had a better grounding on the man and wrote a quick letter, leaving it on the boy's coffee table. There was the faint grimace of regret as was taken away, leaving Xavier behind - illusions dropped.
Xavier stared at his hands for a long moment, processing the whole evening's memories before falling back on the cough. A hand passed over his eyes as he began to laugh, tearing up as he did so. He was the fucking Count of Monte Cristo, even if the man disapproved of him.