Night One
In the dark, on the first night of some life that doesn't seem to resemble his anymore, it's really not so different from before. The lights are off and his breathing is slow and even, and John's thoughts are on them.
Not really different at all. Even if this bed is soft, sinking beneath his weight as he shifts. Even if he knows Bobby's not there in the next bed down, like he always is. Or always was, before things changed.
It's hard to believe it hasn't even been two days since the school was attacked. Bobby fell asleep on his shoulder somewhere around the New York border, and John thinks he may have drifted off too at some point, because he can remember opening his eyes and seeing Rogue looking back from the front seat at him, at them. He couldn't figure out her expression, but then, John's never had any clue what the fuck's going on in her head.
It hurt that morning, when she touched him on the porch. Not a sharp, tingling pain, or a dull ache, but something different. She was draining him. Taking part of him away for herself.
Nothing new for her.
John is Bobby's best friend. Bobby told him things at night, when they were not quite asleep. John knew when Bobby was going to ask Rogue out, and he knew when she got scared and said no, and he knew every step Bobby took till she said yes. He knew every detail about their dates and their handholding and every fucking thing they did.
They haven't kissed yet. Or they hadn't. John's out of the loop now.
It's funny how that hadn't really sunk in till just now. Magneto had led him to the room, hand firm on John's elbow, guiding him along. Magneto's grip wasn't even that strong on him, but that didn't matter when John didn't want to get away. After he left, John had just stripped and slipped into bed.
And it's different and not different at the same time.
Bobby told him everything about him and Rogue, and then he would go to sleep. And John would think about them.
There are plenty of things you can do without kissing. If you're creative, at least.
But this was Bobby and Rogue, the good kids, the ones who don't bother to look at anything -- because if they did, if they looked at the big picture and didn't just take what people told them, they'd be here with John now, wouldn't they?
When Bobby and John were young, when Bobby had been brand new at the school and John had only been there a bit longer, sometimes John would wake up in the middle of the night in Bobby's bed, or with Bobby in his bed. It was comforting then.
This bed is bigger than the ones at school, big enough for another body beside him, cool to the touch, for another one, soft and covered, there too.
It's weird. John didn't expect to miss any of it. He made the choice and stepped out of his old life, into his new life ("You're a very brave young man, Pyro," Magneto told him as he helped him into the helicopter. "Quite extraordinary," and that made John's stomach feel odd, because he's been a freak and he's been another mutant among all the rest, but this is something different; he's never been a god). And he's glad he did, but they were his best friends.
And here in the dark it's all very close.
His lighter is on the nightstand beside the bed, and he doesn't realize he's reached for it till the tiny flame appears. He makes it bigger, lets it rise to the center, and the room is lit around him with just a soft glow. It's not very much, but it's something different, and he thinks he can fall asleep like this, no ghosts, just the clear shining glow of his future all around.