Bobby didn't feel cold. It was a part of his mutation. But when John pulled away, he felt the loss as a chill that nearly made him shiver in its absence. Which was stupid, because it was his own fault. He'd stiffened at the touch, of course John had pulled away. It hadn't been because he didn't want it, though. God, this day had gotten confusing. Part of him wanted to just back up and not ever come here--but that was mostly because he felt like his head was spinning and wouldn't stop. There was just too much to take in and he needed somewhere quiet to sit and process it all.

And then John gave him that very thing. He watched his old friend walk away with a small frown, then shook his head and went into the bedroom, looking around a bit before sitting on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

So John was here. In London. With a room for rent. It was almost as if something had steered the two of them together again, fate or destiny, if he believed in either of those, which he didn't know whether he did or not. But he was here, and John was here, and the reunion that he'd dreaded, that he'd been sure would never happen, had happened--and the world hadn't ended. Sparks hadn't flown, or at least not literal ones, but--but there was definitely something there, something he hadn't felt before, or at least not strongly enough to explore it more.

He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he processed all of this. This wasn't what he'd come to London to find, but it had found him.

After what felt like a long time but was probably only about ten minutes he took a deep breath and stood up, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. He followed the path that John had taken and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, looking at John in silence for a long moment, studying him, trying to pick out all of the smaller changes in his face, his posture, his demeanor. Trying to find all the ways he'd grown up, but also trying to find the boy he'd known at school, at the same time.