Yeah. This was what Bobby Drake was to him. Someone who listened, even when sensible people probably should have punched him at the door and moved on, or scoffed a hundred different times through the afternoon. Not perfect, no. Not a save the world kind of guy. But not some icon of perfection that John had to instinctively push against. His gaze searched Bobby's face, noting the changes more than the simlarities, the slight weight on the shoulders of this young man, the barest hint of a shadow in the way he looked and talked and seemed. Maybe Bobby had always been flawed, but the flaws seemed to loom larger now they were both older.

"Turned into social history, kind of. Or comparative literature; seems to depend on which professor wants to claim me on a given week. Looking at the monsters of modern popular culture - the aliens, the werewolves, the vampires - and what their depiction says about what we find acceptable and what we don't." He took another swig and managed a wry grin. "Still finding fault with how society treats its freaks, just this time I'm fixing it paper by paper."

Awkward for a moment, John wet his lips with another swallow of beer, and felt all too obvious at just how he was looking at Bobby. "You took a gap year or something?" Better not to remind Bobby how he knew. "And hey, if you want to grab your stuff, we can do chit-chat over takeout or I can cook something. As a welcome thing," he added, hurriedly.