John snorted at the old nickname. He'd chosen it for himself in spite, adopted it in scorn, and dropped it out of guilt. But it was enough to bring him out of his reverie, reduced to wiping the tears from his cheeks and feeling things like some kind of dork.

His life in a wreck around him, John stuck his jaw out and crossed to the balustrade to loom over and gaze down at the departing figure with growing contempt. This was why a part of him had always loathed Bobby, why they'd always been different. John fought for things because he gave a crap: Bobby only fought if backed into a corner, and most of the time he fled.

"...Oh, that's rich, coming from the guy who got off on my hair, Iceman." John had done the bleach job to make him happy, he'd compromised and changed and tempered himself, all to get along with the guy, to take his place in a world that he hated and who hated him in turn, and there was Bobby, running off again. "Yeah, you're just fine, no damage here."

Pausing, he hollered as he came down the stairs, determined to let this be his last word even as he all but chased Bobby out the door: "Your Mom will set you up with the nicest girl. You'll have a perfect life. Enjoy the lack of actual feelings, and go fuck yourself, Frosty."