When the kiss ended, John just leaned in against Bobby, letting the other young man support him like an empty rag-doll for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. The conversation with his mother had drained him, and he shut his eyes against the wave of miserable irritation that threatened to surge up and instead just tried to focus on Bobby's warmth, his scent, on the restorative power of that kiss. He didn't want to look at him, but he did want to wrap himself around Bobby and just not ever let go. "Oh, you know, Mom wants to know why I haven't bothered to talk to her in seven years. All she knows is that I bailed out of a very prestigious school to commit a couple of acts of arson and ended up in juvie. And I am an absolute failure as son and I am not allowed to talk to my sister." The last admission was low and helpless and almost raw: he'd missed Katie every day since he'd ended up at Westchester, and she'd been the only person he'd mentioned positively, 100% of the time.

Clearing his throat, John found the strength to pull away, to not make a complete idiot of himself, and propped himself up against the kitchen counter. "I can't explain things because most of my life doesn't exist anymore." And if he sounded a bit accusatory, well, he didn't mean to - but John knew Bobby was a hell of a lot happier with mutant history being the tabula rasa it was now than John ever could be. John was a mutant, pure and simple; there was something primal in him that felt lost and angry at the notion he could no longer be himself.