[John and Bobby] Mutant phones home.

[prodigalflame]

John was on the mostly-unused landline, his hip leaning against a kitchen cabinet, legs loosely crossed at the ankle. There was a faint anxiety to him: while the phone was cradled in his left hand, his right absently played with his hair, and he chewed on his lower lip in those moments in which he simply had to listen.

Which, were anyone there to see, were frequent and long. Indeed, John was able to punctuate things with an appropriate number of "Uh-huh", "That's nice" and "Sure, Mom" - hurriedly changed to a more polite "Yes, Mom" when he could all but feel the significant pause down the line. God, he thought, hurry up - except it was early afternoon there, a few hours behind, so Mom had all the time in the world.

And considering it had been seven years, she had a lot to say. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it - or some of it - before. But as the afternoon wore on, John's face grew more stony and rather than chewing his lip he pressed his mouth into a thin line, saying less and less and trying to keep one eye out for Bobby getting home and coming down the hall.

Comments

[cold_blueeyes]

"I'm sorry," Bobby said softly, biting his lip. It had made things a little easier for him, his family forgetting everything about what he was, but it had still been awkward. He could imagine how much worse that would be for John, and he truly was sorry he had to deal with that. Especially not being able to see his sister. "Is there anything I can do?"

[prodigalflame]

"Just- do you mind listening?" John eased himself further away from Bobby, and steeled himself. He felt like he needed to, that he needed the distance right now, to say the things he had to say. He loved Bobby, he knew it, but he didn't yet trust this thing - not yet, not enough - to be completely comfortable with just how human he was. "Because I want to say some things but you gotta promise you don't take them personally, because they are not."

And with that he sought and found Bobby's hand, and squeezed it, staring into those blue eyes: This might be difficult, sweetheart, but I need to do this. And I want us to be honest with each other. I need you to consent, though.

John wasn't sure if Bobby would just pretend to be okay with things just so he could be the nice guy. That was definitely a risk right now, so he added. "And don't just tell me you're okay with listening because you want to be supportive. I can go off and yell at the wall, promise."

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby frowned, a thread of apprehension curling through him, but he nodded, squeezing John's hand back reassuringly. "Of course. You can tell me whatever you need to. I'll listen."

[prodigalflame]

After sorting himself out for a few moments, he worked out what he wanted to say, tried to frame it so he didn't trigger any bad responses. He was learning just how...human his boyfriend was, how John's words could wound. God, and to think he'd never thought Bobby had cared that much. Now he was cautious, careful, and ready with a hug to wrap the guy up in if he needed it.

Still, opening his mouth to start, the words caught in his throat. He swallowed away discomfort, and unconsciously straightened up a little, dropping Bobby's hand to reach back and almost brace himself against the counter. "...I don't know who I am without all the mutant stuff," John confessed, and licked his lips nervously. "After everything-" and no, he didn't need to spell out the everything, and it was definitely better he didn't "-I still had my anger, right? But it was...good, okay? I organised mutant pride parades, and talked to runaways at the Y, and got some dumbass normal college students to understand what it was like to be us and to open their eyes. Mutant Studies - I know it probably sounded egotistical as all fuck, but it was...I got to make a difference. Not by saving the world and not by ending it, not having to choose between the Professor and Erik. It was my own way of doing things," he breathed, and sounded like he ached for that world again, missing it and finding beauty in it at the same time. Everything here felt off - everything except Bobby. "I haven't got that anymore, and I can't tell my mom, and my study is crap because I'm not changing the fucking world, you know? Now I'm just some over-intellectual asshole who can't make it work and who happens to have the best boyfriend in creation but I don't know what I'm good for, nowadays."

These days, all he felt was frustration at who he wasn't. Between mindless bliss with his boyfriend, of course.

[cold_blueeyes]

Okay, it wasn't as bad as Bobby had thought it might be--or it was, it made his heart break a little for John, but it wasn't anything directed at him personally, which was sort of a relief. "I'm sorry," he said softly, because much as he wanted to, he didn't have an answer for John. He knew who he was, and he didn't need other people to know about mutants to be that person. He didn't know how to help John find that, too.

Part of him thought that John would actually do really well if he went back to Westchester, that he could reclaim a part of that by helping the new students adjust, by helping when they were found, going to visit them and guide them, help them realize there was a place where they could be safe, be who they were, without being afraid. But their alma mater was still a sensitive subject for both of them, if for different reasons, and he held the thought for later--likely much, much later, if ever.

"I wish I could help," he said instead, the helpless ache he felt at not being able to fix this writ large on his face. "But I'll always listen if you need to talk about it, to...I don't know, sort through it all? Maybe that will help you figure things out."

[prodigalflame]

"Be my counsellor, huh?" John teased, but there was warmth in his voice, and lines around his eyes from the grin in them. He leaned forward and embraced the other mutant, patting Bobby's back with his hand like Bobby was the one who needed support right now. And he let himself hang there again for a few moments, just quiet and Bobby and the kitchen. "Thank you," he breathed against skin: "Just with my mom and school, it all just feels like it hit me all at once, and I dunno how to deal. But you're wonderful, you really are. A great boyfriend."

And just admitting it made things feel lighter. He'd wondered how Bobby would take things - wasn't he sort of crapping all over his teenage hopes and dreams? But then Bobby was here, here with him, not at Westchester and before that, he'd been at a variety of distinctly non-Westchester places. This wasn't some kind of minor estrangement, this was some serious shit. Probably more serious than John had realised when 'Drake Roberts' had shown up on his door, although even that day he'd realised shit was fairly real.

And despite his own issues, he was willing to listen, to talk, to hold. Even though the helplessness it made him feel was clear. "You're good," John said, and kissed him gently on the lips before finally making himself let go of his boyfriend. "I'll have a better day tomorrow. And the one after that." And so on.

[cold_blueeyes]

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Bobby said, holding John close as he chuckled softly. "For one, my actual counseling would probably be pretty crappy. But I can listen." And even if John's position was very different from his own, that didn't mean he couldn't empathize.

He loosened his grip as John pulled away, offering him an encouraging smile. "I hope so. And if I can help make your days better...just let me know how, okay? Name it." Because all things considered, his own life and mood had improved significantly since John re-entered his life. If he could give some of that back, he wanted desperately to do so.

[prodigalflame]

The listening meant a lot. John had never really had anyone who'd listened. Correction: John had never let himself have anyone who'd listened. Bobby did, once; hell, half the damn school listened, which just made him angrier at the time, all the compassion and consideration and fluffy white-hat angelic bullshit but no goddamn action. But listening took time, and patience, and care: things he'd never appreciated between the surly ages of 14 to 18.

"You make my day better," John assured him, reaching out to squeeze his arm just below the elbow, the contact instinctual, the reassurance he got from it, completely unconscious. "I was going okay, before, even with the world falling out from under me. But you stop me from just being a grumpy, disdainful son of a bitch, and I need that, so thank you. The name that helps is 'Bobby Drake', that's all. You are better for me that you know." That was a soft smile at that, because John thought deep down Bobby had his own issues, and damn if the guy didn't really understand how good this was for John; as if how good they were was all because of John, and not really because of him.

"Now scram and let the master work his magic in the kitchen, okay?" Because there was nothing that eased John's temper more than doing the damn cooking. "I'm sure you have spreadsheets to do. You can demonstrate what a double entry is to me later." And yeah, he wasn't talking about accounting there, from the glint in his eyes.

[cold_blueeyes]

Bobby ducked his head a little at the praise, smiling an 'aw, shucks' kind of smile. It felt good to hear that he made John's life better, because John sure as hell did that for him. It was nice to know it worked both ways, although part of him had already recognized that.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmured, rolling his eyes and flashing a grin at the innuendo. "But only because you feed me so well. I have to work all of this home cooking off somehow." He leaned in and kissed John's cheek quickly and then headed off to grab his backpack so he could get some work done before dinner and 'later.'