Bell' Idol Mio

Story note: Like my previous story about Bobby Drake, "Ridi, Pagliaccio," this story's title is from part of an Italian opera aria. The title means "My Beautiful Idol," and I chose it because it fits the theme of this story. (The previous story title means "Laugh, Clown," in case you were interested.)

I headed down to breakfast and made it to the dining area without having to ask for directions this time. Good. I was memorizing the layout well.

The dining area was full of students and teachers, all claiming seats at the numerous folding tables scattered throughout the room. Through the small windows in the back wall, I saw that it was raining again. I chose a bagel and a muffin and poured a good strong cup of coffee, then hesitated. Where should I sit? All of the tables had at least one person sitting at them.

A characteristic white streak caught my eye. My friend Rogue was at a table in the back, reading a lurid paperback novel. I made my way to her, and she smiled as I approached. She was wearing her uniform.

"Do you always wear black and white, Jean-Paul, or do you have any other colors for special occasions?" She turned the top of the page she had been reading over and closed the book. Love's Eternal Torment. Funny. She had finished one last week that I could have sworn had the same title.

"I have them." I put my coffee down carefully, then my plate. "I do not often wish to wear anything else." I sat gingerly, then more firmly. This chair was stable under me.

"Nothing but spandex? Me too." Mon Dieu, no. Bobby Drake took the seat next to me and grinned. "Feels good, looks good, wears well. Everyone should wear it, right?"

"Bobby!" Rogue playfully hit him. His electric blue shirt crinkled a little, and he pointed to it.

"You hurt Norman's feelings." He unbuttoned it. "Here. Live a little." He tossed the shirt around my shoulders.

I winced. Rogue cocked her head. "You know, Jean-Paul, it looks real good on you. You should wear blue sometimes. It brings out the color of your eyes."

I removed the shirt and smoothed my black sweater out a little. "I would not wear a dress shirt over a sweater, especially in class, but thank you, Bobby." I reluctantly gave the shirt back to him. Under it, he wore nothing but a thin white undershirt. He was well muscled. I tore my eyes from him and concentrated on spreading cream cheese on my bagel.

"Your choice. But I'm telling you, if you hurt Norman's feelings too, he's gonna wrinkle and fade." He threw the blue shirt over the back of his chair and started scooping syrup and pancakes into his mouth.

"So, what's up for you today, J-P?" Rogue's green eyes met mine.

"Class. And for you?" I bit into my bagel, trying to ignore Bobby, who was licking his index finger to get the syrup off it.

"Danger Room practice, martial arts training, the usual. Might as well wear my uniform, you know?"

Bobby gulped some milk. "I'm going to teach some basic accounting, then hit the Danger Room myself. It might even be able to recover afterward." Rogue snickered and I groaned. He took this as encouragement and waved his knife dramatically. "Accountants of doom, unite!"

"Oh, God. Make him stop, Jean-Paul. Please." Rogue gagged.

I raised an eyebrow. "How am I supposed to when you can't?"

Bobby smirked. "So you're saying you give up just because she's a woman? I smell sexism."

I looked over at him. His brown eyes met mine, gleaming with good humor and challenge. His right hand was relaxed on the table not six inches from my own hand. Inwardly, I sighed. I knew I would regret this later.

I seized his hand, surrounding it with mine, and swiftly pinned his thumb. "No. I'm saying you're too annoying for either of us to stop."

"Whoa." He tried to pull out of my grip, but Rogue put her hand atop mine and held our hands together.

"Together we can, though." She winked at me.

"Precisely," I rejoined. His hand was warm, hard, and a little sweaty.

He beamed. "Okay, okay. You double teamed me. I'll just have to do better next time."

"You wish." Rogue let go and got up, scraping her chair across the floor. "Gotta go. Enjoy class, y'all."

I gave his hand a squeeze, then dropped it. "I had better leave as well."

Bobby nodded. "See ya around."

I took my plate and cup and rinsed them in the sink. I hoped I would see him, but I also hoped I would not. Bobby would never consider me as more than a friend. His entire romantic history was with women, from his first girlfriend to his latest sex partner, Kitty Pryde.

Anyway. It was time for class. I ignored the way my hand tingled with the warmth of his as I walked the halls to my room.