zippo-fan-blog

[zippo-fan-blog]

Pyro snorted out a laugh, couldn’t help it, because Bobby had the potential to be one of the most powerful mutants alive, and he was completely fucking oblivious. Just listen to him, contemplating if he could freeze blood, for fuck’s sake, bitching about comic books like he couldn’t bring about a new Ice Age if he really wanted to.

“Just for that, I’ll make sure to bleed all over them,” he promised, leaning heavily against Bobby as they made their way up the driveway to the mansion. The few students that gave them curious looks were treated to the most poisonous glare Pyro could manage -- and given how much he looked like shit, the effect, he was sure, was magnified.

The walk to Bobby’s room was... harder than Pyro would like to admit, honestly. But he did his best to pretend like it was a breeze, gritting his teeth and managing to restrain himself to cursing only once a minute instead of once every few seconds. As soon as he was in reach of Bobby’s bed, he greeted it like a long lost friend, gladly toppling himself over on it. He kinda landed on his face, but he didn’t care.

“When I’m cured,” he announced, muffled into the blankets, “I’m taking you on a date. I don’t give a shit about your gay panic or whether us dating is probably the shittiest, most politically charged idea since mutant registration. We’re going on a fucking date. You and me, popsicle.”

Killing Time | Bobby & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

If I get my game on, I’m gonna be in a relationship two weeks from now, motherfucker. That is, if a certain fuckface idiot doesn’t continue to be an idiot.

[zippo-fan-blog]

“Uh-huh,” Pyro replied dubiously, sounding highly unimpressed with Piotr’s explanation. He didn’t even have to fake it all that much: he was exhausted, still felt like shit, he imagined everybody in that line felt exactly the same way, and he couldn’t imagine that they’d be thrilled with getting drawn. He certainly wasn’t enthused at the idea.

Still, he couldn’t really bring himself to verbally tear Piotr a new asshole over it -- maybe because of the aforementioned exhaustion, maybe because he’d seen Piotr’s art back in school and knew how good it was, and he could only imagine the guy had gotten better in the last nine years. In a few years there’d probably be some exhibit in a museum about the mutant virus, and who knew: maybe Piotr’s art could be in it. He was a good enough artist.

Catching the glance Piotr gave his band-aid, Pyro scowled. “Don’t even start,” he said defensively. “I’ve hung out in Avengers Tower, I’m allowed to pick Iron Man.”

Huh. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, if he was going to keep his reputation intact. But he assumed it was mostly shot to hell, anyway, what with being allowed to visit the school occasionally. Blowing out an irritated sigh, Pyro just wound up leaning against the wall next to Piotr, watching the line of sick mutants. “So I guess you managed to avoid getting sick, huh? Congrats.”

Halcyon || Piotr & ???

He had finally gotten to the finer details of the faces of some of the mutants in line, hey tried to portray the fear in some, the excitement and hope in others, despite the fact of him not having quite the proper toos, no blocks of graphite and only a thick leaded set of number two pencils. He regretted not taking a few more minutes to get his gear together.

He couldn’t help but feel guilty in taking these unsuspecting mutants as his art subjects but it was too late now. There emotions were just so raw, so true, it was hard to pass up an opportunity like this, nearly any artist would agree.And aside from this moral dilemma ideally they would come out of this healthier and happier than other, that was surely a moment that should be recorded in human mutant integration history.

He was finishing up the details on one young mans beanie when a familiar voice made his hand lock up and freeze, putting a small streak on the boys hat. That voice? It couldn’t be, could it? He could hardly believe he could pinpoint who it was, they hadn’t even spoken in years, and even then they never talked much, they were just too different.

He slowly lowered his sketchbook to reveal his steely blue eyes looking down on John with a look of mild surprise. He let out a low somewhat unimpressed “Privjet…” He didn’t know what to think of John, he essentially betrayed him and all the other X-Men to become a terroristic member of the brotherhood. Although from what he had been hearing around the Mansion is that he wasn’t all bad there was still good in him, although misguided.  “It’s not their sickness that made me drawn to them, it was there emotion. Fear, joy, hope, excitement…” He responded before eyeing his bandage; Iron Man. He would have gone for Captain America, which he saw on so many others.

[zippo-fan-blog]

The cure was, needless to say, something that Pyro was really fucking wary about, and not just because it brought back unpleasant memories of the government sponsored Mutant Cure years back. He had a whole list of reasons he didn’t trust it--it was made by AIM, it’d be easy to kill a whole bunch of mutants with it--but he’d made promises to a few people that he’d get it.

Didn’t mean he had to like it. But after months of being sick, months of being absolutely certain he was going to die not with a bang but a pathetic whimper, here he was: scowling at a way too cheerful nurse who was sticking a giant needle in his arm. And scowling even harder when she asked him what sort of band-aid he’d like: Captain America or Iron Man.

(He went with the Iron Man band-aid. He’d met the guy once. Stark was cool. He kind of wished they had Black Widow ones, though, because Romanoff was a smidgen cooler in his eyes.)

When he was done, he shuffled his way out of the clinic, one hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow, still feeling like shit but feeling slightly less like he was going to die, at least. Pyro cast a cursory glance over the people outside, and almost did a double-take when he saw Colossus leaning up against the wall, nose buried in his sketchbook. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d spoken to the guy? Years, probably. Not since Pyro had left the mansion.

Perking up a little at the prospect of getting to annoy someone he hadn’t seen in years, Pyro made his way over the street. “Wouldn’t have thought sick people would make for great art,” he drawled when he got close enough, plastering on a wan, tired version of his usual shit-eating smirk.

Halcyon || Piotr & ???

Finally, the silver lining could now be seen through the dense fog of the past months. Could it really be true? The cure. True it wasn’t the entire solution to the disease plaguing mutant kind but it was hope, it was a new start. Although Piotr may have remained unscathed from the disease he was far from unaffected. Katya, Quinn, Kaz, and countless other mutants he had been given the privilege to meet were struck down with the illness. Concern had been racking his brain since the news of the disease was released, but now, now he could start to relax, help his friends through their recovery and finally worry a little bit less about his little snowflake, Illyana.

 He decided to spend this new found sense of hope in one of the best ways he could. In his room at the Xavier’s he had a wooden pencil and a rather large sketch pad on his desk, filled with all sorts of gorgeous sketches of flowers, friends, and memories of his home in Russia. It had been a while since he had seriously sketched and so he decided today would be a good day to test himself. His large sturdy figure cast a shadow on his room as he inhaled deeply looking out his window and towards the bustling city. Despite the fact Piotr typically avoided the bustling scene of the city he felt the drive to head in, get some good sketches, see the hope and joy be restored to those in line for the cure, maybe even see a friendly dace. And with that he was off, throwing on a black V-Neck T-shirt that seemed a size too small -although most of his clothes didn’t fit his large body very well- and with his sketch book in hand he made his way out of the institute and towards the city.

He had to admit, the city had a slightly different feel to it since he was here a week or two prior. The city still felt mildly broken, but it was as if the pieces were beginning to mend themselves, make themselves whole again. It wasn’t long before he came upon a rather large line of people, some faces mildly familiar but no one he would like to say hello to. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was one of the lines for the cure, and that he should still keep his distance. Finding a bit of empty wall space a couple dozen yards away he claimed it as his roost. Leaning against the wall he soon began his sketches. He began with the sky, catching the clouds and the birds just right before lowering to the roofs of the towering buildings of the concrete jungle. After perhaps a half hour he was focusing in on the faces of those in line, trying to capture the life of each of them the best he could without being accused of staring. 

[zippo-fan-blog]

[Letter Left on Pyro's Dresser]

Pyro,

You’re an asshole.

But you’re an alright asshole.

I get what you did. I don’t agree with how it happened, but I get it. And in many ways, I appreciate it. At least the thought. 

Anyway. 

When this cure comes out, and you’re feeling better, stop for a kidnap-free visit sometime. Sarah ought to meet the guy that did so much to help her. 

Plus, you owe me a real New York Cheeseburger.

Anyway. Thanks and stuff.

Love,

Ginny

As it happened, Pyro didn’t go back to his apartment until after he’d gotten the cure.

He’d dropped in to see Sehun (and punch the shit out of him). He’d gone to the mansion to talk to Bobby, had watched the headlines as the vaccine had come out.

Later, he’d stood in line for the cure. He’d hated every second of it, had been paranoid for every second it, half sure that the mutants getting the cure would start dropping dead right in front of him, in some AIM-driven ethnic cleansing. But it hadn’t happened. People had gotten the injection, and had walked away, and even if Pyro had still been paranoid, he’d offered up his own arm for the cure.

And he wasn’t dead yet. Fuck, he was feeling better. Months of headaches and bloody noses and feeling too exhausted to manage more than a short walk, weeks of barely being able to control his own fire, and he... felt better. Not entirely. Not yet. But he was fucking alive, and he got to go back to his apartment.

Someone (Sehun, he suspected) had left it cleaner than Pyro typically kept it. The note he saw on his dresser made him scowl, but--

Oh. That was... kind of nice, actually.

If there was one thing he’d done right lately, it was kidnap Ginny and Sarah. Maybe they would have never gotten the virus if he hadn’t kidnapped them, but he liked to think he’d kept them safe. He liked to think he’d done something good. So maybe he would drop by and see them, maybe once the kid was born, because Pyro sure as fuck wanted to see what Sarah’s mutation was, and he’d gotten kinda... well, okay, he liked Ginny. She was pretty badass.

Plus: he’d seen the most fucking amazing crocheted Magneto helmet-and-cape set for kids in a Genosha store the other day. Surely they had to have baby sizes.

[zippo-fan-blog]

“Damn fucking straight I’d haunt your asses,” Pyro grumbled, gleefully imagining a future where he got to go full-on poltergeist on Bobby and Sehun. God, that would be so fucking funny. He could write shitty insults on the mirror, clank some chains, throw tubs of ice-cream across the rooms.

Except, wait. If he wasn’t going to die, then he wasn’t going to get to haunt them. Damn.

Still, it was mildly (read: really) reassuring to hear that Bobby wouldn’t allow Frostbitch to get in his pants, even if Pyro was out of the equation. And even if he rolled his eyes at Bobby trying to refuse taking his apartment, even if he rolled his eyes even harder at Bobby stealing the Hulk’s stupid line, he wasn’t really listening, mostly just focusing on basking in the warm glow of hah, Frostbitch, I fucking won, fuck you.

“The hospital on Genosha, mostly,” Pyro replied, shrugging a little. He squinted at Bobby’s hands, then took them, pulling himself to stand upright with a bitten-back grunt, having to squeeze his eyes shut for a few moments at the sudden onslaught of vertigo. Christ, for a few minutes, there, he’d forgotten he was sick. “But I wouldn’t hate having to stay here. You know. Until the cure is released.” Pyro carefully looked indifferent to cover how much he’d actually fucking love to stay for a while. “If you’re okay with me bleeding all over your shit. Seriously, I’m getting nose bleeds every day, it fucking sucks.”

Killing Time | Bobby & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

I Really Like Fire (And Other Subtleties by St. John Allerdyce) --requested by @zippo-fan

Hot Hot Hot - Buster Poindexter // Set Fire to the Rain - Adele // Fire on the Mountain - Grateful Dead // Hot in Herre - Nelly // Light My Fire - The Doors // Burning Down the House - Talking Heads // Disco Inferno - The Trammps // Great Balls of Fire - Jerry Lee Lewis // I’m On Fire - Bruce Springsteen // Burn - Ellie Goulding // I Really Like You - Carly Rae Jepsen

Listen here.

[zippo-fan-blog]

It was fucking weird, Pyro would admit, to wake up not on the ground, because he was pretty sure that was where he’d passed out.

After a moment of confusion and scowling, he realized the room smelled like someone had sprayed disinfectant everywhere, and he was decidedly not in the t-shirt he’d originally been in. What the fuck. “I feel so violated,” Pyro groaned, rolling over to pin Sehun -- who looked like he was trying to sneak out -- with a glare. “You. I’m not done with you yet. You fucking...”

Halfway through working himself up to a proper tirade, Pyro realized he... well, he just couldn’t be fucking bothered. Maybe it was a lack of energy thing, maybe it was that he’d punched the crap out of Sehun and said everything he’d needed to. He’d already decided that he needed to live long enough to get the cure solely to prevent Sehun from trying to get in Bobby’s pants.

“Whatever,” he finished with a grumbled sigh. “You’re a fucking asshole.” But at least he was the inspiring kind of asshole, rather than just the annoying kind, so Sehun had that going for him. “One last thing. You heard about that vaccine AIM’s working on? As soon as there’s one safe for pregnant woman, you get Ginny there.”

Homeward Bound | Sehun & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

Huh.

Pyro hadn’t really given much thought to how Bobby might react to this (he had, actually, he’d thought about it compulsively, over and over, but acting like he didn’t give a shit about his own death meant acting like he didn’t give a shit about how other people reacted, too), but apparently it was... all of that. From anger to pleading to kissing him like an idiot.

“Oh, fuck off, Drake, the last thing I am right now is hot,” Pyro grumbled, but there was no real heat in it, and the bemused smirk at the corner of his lips gave him away. There was so much more he could say -- about how he had his doubts about the so-called cure that AIM was trying to develop, mostly, about how it was good that things were being managed at the mansion, about how Bobby was a fucking dork.

Alright, he always wanted to say that last one. Because it was true, but also because it was his own version of you’re important to me.

But sitting on the pavement outside the mansion seemed like the wrong place for idle chit-chat. Besides, he’d come here for a reason, even if those reasons were hard to remember over the pounding in his head and his internal delight at Bobby trying to grin at him. “When have I ever given up?” he said eventually, plastering on a wan, tired version of his usual smirk. “Frostbitch said he’d try to get in your pants if I died. So, no. I’m getting that cure even if I have to burn down AIM to do it.” Pyro hesitated briefly, studying Bobby’s expression. “But... just in case. I told Sehun where to find my will, and-- the apartment’s yours. I know how much you fucking loved it.”

Killing Time | Bobby & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

After a moment, Pyro vaguely realized that Kitty would have seen her name as it was listed in his phone: The Second Ex. Rogue’s was The First Ex. He’d originally had them under their actual names, but in a fit of pique about a month ago, he’d amused himself by changing them.

Oops. Oh well, it wasn’t like he actually cared if Kitty took offense to that.

“What the fuck, do I really sound like that?” he grumbled into the phone, because whatever else was going on, it was weird to hear his own voice. He knew his voice was all raspy and shit, but, seriously. Fucking weird. Still, he dutifully took his gaze away from the mirror, and stared over at the door to the bedroom.

Oh, god. He was going to have to get dressed. And pretend to be Kitty. And-- other bodily function things he didn’t even want to think about.

“Gee, I wonder why I didn’t tell you I was sick,” Pyro said snidely, starting to haul himself out of bed. Kitty--or her body, at least--seemed about the same stage of sickness as him, the part where moving got really goddamn taxing. “Maybe because I knew you wouldn’t give a shit? Bobby told me about you being sick, by the way.” And he’d debated calling her for the longest time, because whatever else had happened between them, he still respected the hell out of her. Still considered her a friend, as much as he could call anyone a friend. He never had called, though. He’d figured she wouldn’t want to hear from him. “Okay, so... fuck. Let’s go on the assumption that this is because of a mutant doing something fucked up. You’re at my apartment, right? Don’t freak out, Sehun and Ginny should be there.”

Bodyswap (Kitty & Pyro)

[zippo-fan-blog]

Despite the fact that the effort of punching Sehun had probably resulted in Pyro being the one worse off, he still felt proud when he saw the blood dripping into Sehun’s sleeve. If he had the energy, he would have looked as smug as he wanted to feel--he didn’t quite get there, though, torn between getting increasingly pissed off at Sehun and a distant anxiety at the mention of an afterlife.

He didn’t believe in an afterlife. Not really. But his mother was so religious she’d put the fucking Westboro Baptist Church to shame sometimes, and even though he hadn’t spoken to her in years, he’d heard it all when he’d been growing up. Always, in the back of his mind, he figured he was going to Hell when he died. He didn’t believe in it, but there had always been that little paranoid voice that sounded way too much like her, telling him he’d burn for eternity, and as much as he wanted to shrug it off, he couldn’t. Not quite. And--

For fuck’s sake. He’d just spent a solid ten seconds staring down at the blood he’d dripped onto his desk, completely zoned out, when he had better things to be doing.

Like punching Sehun again.

This time, Pyro managed to topple the stupidly tall bastard onto the ground, and managed to plant a knee on his chest, keeping Sehun there while he punched him again. “Yeah, you fucking dick, you’re not allowed,” he hissed, getting a double handful of Sehun’s shirt collar to lift his head up--it was way too easy, he distantly realized, because he’d never been able to beat Sehun in a fist fight. But his single-minded fury kept him from thinking too hard about that little detail.

“If you even fucking think about it, Frostbitch, I will haunt your ass,” Pyro promised. “I’ll find a way. I’ll haunt both your asses. I’ll...” He trailed off, blinking hard at the dizziness of over-exertion, both voice and anger growing distant, labored. “No, fuck that, I’ll just... I just have to stay alive... long enough for the cure. That way... you can’t...” Ah, shit. He was going to faint. He knew the signs by now. “Fuck.”

And with that, he passed out, with only the final cranky thought that Sehun was going to be a goddamn bony landing site.

Homeward Bound | Sehun & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

Simultaneously, everything got both better and worse when Bobby finally arrived.

That dumb grin of his had even Pyro, feeling as shitty as he did, managing a smirk in return, because for a second, the sight of that stupid grin made him forget that there was anything wrong with the world. There was just a moron that he loved, that maybe loved him back. But then that grin was fading, and Pyro guessed he looked worse than he thought he did, because it looked like there was no hiding how sick he was.

Fuck. He’d wanted just a few minutes, at least. A few minutes where he could pretend that everything was fine.

“Well, it’s definitely not a fucking financial visit,” he grumbled, clumsily swatting Bobby’s hand away. “Be careful, you dumb shit. I don’t want to get you sick.” Even if he did have this forcefield gizmo thing, he still didn’t want to risk it. He could not have one of his last acts on this earth to be to doom Bobby, too. He’d haunt his own ass if he did that.

Slowly, he tugged his jacket in further around himself, absently regretting sitting on the cold pavement. Normally, he’d just play with some fire to keep warm, but that had been... on the fritz, lately. One of the symptoms. On a good day, he could barely maintain a candle light.

“I just... needed to see you,” Pyro said carefully, staring down at the road between his boots. It was easier than looking at Bobby. “Sorry.” He wasn’t really sure why he was apologizing. For making Bobby feel bad? Maybe. It was clearly time to change the topic. “How’s everything at the mansion?”

Killing Time | Bobby & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

While Sehun went off to do whatever the fuck he was doing, Pyro returned to flipping through War of the Worlds. He had some half-baked plan to give it to Bobby, a kind of final morbid memento or something. His zippo would go to Bobby, too.

But he found himself wanting to give something to Sehun because, strangely, he’d kind of started to worry about the guy. Who would be around to piss Sehun off, after Pyro died? Who would step up to needle the guy and let him blow off steam every once in a while? He didn’t think his death would be a huge loss for Sehun, but if their situations were reversed, Pyro would admit that he’d feel... weird if Sehun died. Like there was a big, annoying hole in his life.

He took the tissues from Sehun with a mumbled thanks, ducking his head and failing to notice the contemplative look Sehun had on his face. He figured Sehun would want to finish things up soon, take Ginny out into the city--and there was something Pyro could be proud of, at least. He’d managed to keep Ginny and her baby out of the firing line of the virus. He’d helped Sehun, even though he still had no idea why Sehun had needed out of the mansion so badly.

Pyro only half listened to Sehun talk. But--

What the fuck.

His head shot up, glaring at Sehun over the wad of bloodied tissues. And then, as quick as he could, he pushed himself off the bed, drew his fist back, and slammed it into Sehun’s goddamn face as hard as he could.

Weak muscles and momentum had him staggering, only barely managing to clumsily catch himself, one hand braced on his desk as he coughed, hacking up blood he wasn’t sure of the origin of. “Fuck you,” Pyro gasped between coughs, “If you-- fucking even think-- about-- that, I’ll fucking--” The rest of his ranting about the injustice of Bobby and Frostbitch winding up in bed together got lost under more coughing, but at least he was fairly certain the blood was just going down the wrong pipe from his nose. “Fuck,” he rasped finally, half-slumped over his desk. “You’re not allowed. He’s mine. Even if I’m dead.”

Homeward Bound | Sehun & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

Killing Time | Bobby & Pyro

So. He had to tell Bobby.

Pyro had been trying not to. He’d been trying not to tell anybody, but like most of his plans, that too had gone to shit. It turned out that dying alone was actually really difficult when there were people in his life that persisted in sticking around, no matter how hard he tried to alienate them. Unluckily for Bobby, he was the one person that Pyro had never really succeeded in pushing away. Not for long, at least.

So here he was, with the nosebleeds and the headaches, the fatigue and the muscle weakness, and in his weaker, more contemplative moments, he found himself wishing he hadn’t kissed Bobby on Genosha. He’d started something--still didn’t know what, really--but his inevitable death was going to end it, and it was Bobby that was going to have to deal with the fallout.

First, he just had to fucking tell him.

Getting a teleporter was easy enough, getting one of those nifty, if rare, Genoshan-made bracelets that stopped him from being contagious (some shit about a forcefield that made it so any biological material didn’t spread, he didn’t know, science was weird) was easy. Getting teleported outside the gates of Xavier’s mansion was easy. Even managing to shuffle a few steps toward the gutter, so he could sit at the edge of the sidewalk because he couldn’t walk much further, was easy. Texting Bobby was hard.

He’d tried to make himself look not sick. He’d even shaved, kind of, managed to put some proper clothes on. The whole ‘not being able to stand for too long’ thing, he figured, would eventually give him away, as well as the whole ‘being as pale as death’ thing. But he’d tried. He’d kept insisting to Bobby that he was fine, during their earlier texting.

Slowly, he poked at his phone, scowling the whole time. Come outside, he texted to Bobby. Outside front gate. Can’t be fucked dealing with mutant babies who want to kick my shins.

[zippo-fan-blog]

For fuck’s sake.

See, Pyro had been mostly okay with the idea of dying. (Which was a lie, actually, he wasn’t okay with it, and he’d forced himself into apathy because not caring was so much easier than caring.) But then Sehun had to go and mention the lake on the mansion grounds, implying that it’d be a great spot to scatter his ashes, and--

Fuck. Very abruptly, Pyro looked away from Sehun, swallowing hard a few times around the tightness in the back of his throat. He would not cry, damn it. Not in front of Sehun, not in front of anyone, not at all. His reply came in the form of a sharp nod, because he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Being reminded of Bobby just made him feel oddly resigned. The last time he’d seen Bobby, they’d... well, Pyro still didn’t know. They’d somehow managed to talk about everything and nothing at all. They’d kissed, and talked past each other, and they’d spent a few days on Genosha pretending that everything else didn’t exist. It had been amazing, and yet here Pyro was, wishing he hadn’t started it, wishing that maybe he’d held off a little longer, so that Bobby wouldn’t have to deal with that shit and then Pyro going off and dying on him. It’d be so much easier if Bobby still hated him.

And then there was Sehun, who’d have to pick Bobby up when all the cards fell down. Sehun, who’d gone through a situation not dissimilar, actually. Pyro was supremely fucking irritated that he started feeling guilty about leaving him with so much to deal with.

In the end, he just made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a rueful snort. “The AIM cure? Yeah, the one that’s going to be available ‘within a month’,” he replied, trying for his usual sarcasm and not quite getting there. “Not sure I’m going to last that long. But if I do, I’ll be first in line. I think--” He broke off as a tell-tale tickle started in his sinuses, and grunted in annoyance as he grabbed one of the masks Sehun had bought in, bunching it up and holding it over his nose as it started to bleed. “I think it’s a bunch of bullshit, though,” he muttered, muffled, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. “Fucking AIM? Nobody fucking trusts them. You’ll just have to make sure Bobby doesn’t... I don’t know, run away and become an accountant again.”

Homeward Bound | Sehun & Pyro

[zippo-fan-blog]

Bodyswap (Kitty & Pyro)

These days, Pyro was used to waking up feeling like shit. He’d almost lost track of time of how long he’d been ill with the mutant virus, and he only knew that it felt like he’d been sick for-fucking-ever. What he was not used to was waking up feeling sick, and feeling like he’d lost about ten pounds.

Nor was he used to waking up to the sound of giggling children running through the nearby hallway.

“The fuck,” he muttered--and stopped cold, because apparently in addition to losing a few pounds, he’d also lost his balls. His voice was way too high. And his hair was too long, and when he rolled over in bed he had weird lumps on his chest, and what in the literal fuck.

Propping himself up in bed soon solved the question of What The Hell, because there was a mirror opposite the bed, and... Kitty was staring back at him. Pyro stared at himself for a moment longer, and, more calmly than he felt, picked up Kitty’s phone from the bedside table and started scrolling through her contact until he found his name.

“What the fuck,” he spat as soon as she picked up. “I’m you! And I’m in your bed! And--” Pyro broke off as he glanced in the mirror again, absently noting, “Huh, so that’s what your boobs look like, I always kind of wondered.” Then, more vehemently: “Did some fucking mutant with a stupid ability decide to fuck with us? Are you in my body?”

[zippo-fan-blog]

Making a wounded face, Pyro clapped a hand to his heart, giving a theatrically upset sniff. “And I here I was, hoping for some words of comfort before I wind up in my death bed,” he sighed, oh-so-sadly. “You’re a fucking cold bastard.”

Privately, though, he was relieved. He even had to smirk a little at Sehun’s apparent threat. He knew Sehun wouldn’t actually try to beat the shit out of him just for funsies, but it was nice to hear. Comforting, in a way, back to the good old normal state. There’d be some people in his life that were going to make a big fucking deal out of this--Bobby, probably, and okay, maybe just one person, because he couldn’t think of any others that would really give a shit--and the thought of having to have that conversation was almost more terrifying than the thought of death itself.

He reached out to take the book, then set it down on his knee, staring at the cover of it while Sehun kept talking. Something about him and Ginny going out and getting some air, whatever, he wasn’t really listening.

“Fine,” Pyro said distractedly, flipping through a few pages of the book. He’d written all over the margins back in school, and the pencil marks were still there, a little faded. “Everybody who’s sick is quarantined, but wear masks anyway.” There were a lot of exclamation points in his notes, a lot of capitals, a lot of energy and anger. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d... faded, a little. Lately, he’d kind of been wondering if he should go out with a bang, take himself out before the sickness did.

He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something too,” he muttered. Because Sehun would be all calm and unemotional about this, and someone needed to know, someone not Brotherhood. “I want to be cremated. I don’t give a shit where my ashes go--” he doubted the X-Men would allow them to be scattered on the mansion grounds, “--but I made a will a few days ago. It’s in the top drawer of my computer desk.” Pyro glanced over at Sehun, carefully blank. “It’s pretty simple. Think you can do that for me?”

Homeward Bound | Sehun & Pyro