Because this pairing always seemed so...bittersweet. To me.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-men: Evolution.

She had never seen him during the day. She had to wonder; did he look different? Did the sun shining down on his wild red hair somehow make him a different man? If it did; she never wanted to see him in the day. She liked him just the way he was.

Amara gazed sadly at the boy sleeping beside her. He was supposed to be an enemy but as hard as she tried she couldn't bring herself to view him as one. To them, he was Pyro but to her he was St. John. Or sometimes he was just John.

A while back he'd come to the mansion and climbed up through her her window. It'd been an accident at the time; they'd never seen each other before and he'd randomly selected a window to scale to hide on the balcony; and escape the crazed Logan pacing the grounds below. He'd never counted on her actually seeing him out there as he lit a flame in his hand and used it like a flashlight.

He knew she was his enemy but she was oblivious to the fact that he was hers. She let him in and showed him that he wasn't the only soul who could play with fire. He came back the next night and their relationship was never supposed to evolve beyond a pair of intriguied pyrokenetics. But fate has a funny way of working.

John only came at night. He knew they were not supposed to be fratenizing with the enemy and as his feelings for the little South American girl grew he let her in on it. She realized that he was one of Magneto's henchmen, and not just any one but the guy who'd made those outrageous fire horses on top of the bridge a few months back, and made him leave.

Oddly enough, for him, he couldn't stay away. He found himself coming back a few nights later, bringing a guitar and playing random songs on her balcony. She ignored it at first, but he continued to arrive nightly and serenade her, eventually leading to their rekindled relationship. And then some.

They were sleeping, supposed to be sleeping anyway, with arms laced around each other's motionless body. He was asleep, she knew that much from his slow, hissing breath. His orange bangs were falling in his face and she brushed them away, wishing the moment would last forever. She wished that he would last forever.

At first, he wouldn't stay very long, maybe until one or two in the morning as they talked. Then he'd claim Mags would kill him if he didn't get at least a little sleep and he'd take off. Amara eventually found herself not wanting him to go and invited him to sleep there.

She was infatuated with him. Infatuated for lack of a better word. They had some sort of a relationship but it was rocky and unsteady and more of a playful game than it was love. Amara had a sort of love for him, but words in themselves couldn't describe her exact feelings. When he came at night, it was like she realized how much she needed him. She never felt it during the day until she saw his face again at night. She was more dependent than he was on his visits, for reasons she could never know.

He'd leave as soon as the dawn broke. He'd come back the next night; or the one after that. She'd go days sometimes without seeing him, trying to keep herself busy, but knowing in her heart the only thing she wanted was to hold him and him to hold her again.

But he'd never stay with her.

"Come back to bed," she'd say almost every morning, or something to that effect, "It's too early. Stay a little bit longer." He wouldn't answer. He'd laugh, usually, and pet her hair, like she was some kind of dog, or something. She hated when he did that because it was his way of telling her she didn't understand; and he'd only do it when she brought up that point.

And every once and a while she'd offer him a place to stay at Xaviers Institute. The Professor would let him in if he asked; he'd let other previous villans in for similar reasons. But Pyro would always decline, making excuses like the place had too many rules or he couldn't handle being clammed up all the time.

"You don't want to be with me, do you? That's why you won't stay," she asked once. That got a response. He looked at her intensely, seriously, an emotion that she'd never seen grace his face.

"Don't evah say that. I want t' stay here moh than you can understand. But I can't." He kissed her, soft and gentle. But she still had no idea why he wouldn't stay.

The sun started coming up all too soon; and she tightened her grip across his rib cage. Maybe, just maybe, if she held on tight enough he wouldn't wake up; and then he couldn't go. But he did wake up, and whether it was from her vice grip or from the early sunshine didn't matter. He kissed her on the forehead and skillfully snaked his way out of her arms to sit up on her bed.

"Don't go," she said dully. It wasn't even a question anymore, he would go whether she liked it or not. But she felt compelled to ask him every single time, just in case he'd changed his mind. He chuckled softly but stood up to leave nonetheless. He'd take the window, like he always did, and slip away from the mansion unnoticed. He was opening the pane when her voice rang out again, soft as a whisper.

"I love you," she murmured. She was walking on uncharted territory. He'd been coming and holding and kissing her for months now and they'd never shared I love you's before. The L word was forbidden; and Amara still couldn't tell why she'd said it. She should have chalked it up to a last attempt to get him to stay but when she said it, that fact hadn't crossed her mind. She'd just blurted it out. And she didn't know if she meant it.

He squeezed his eyelids shut. Somehow, her words stung. Blindly, he kept prying at the window. "Will you tell me you love me too, before you go?" she asked. There was hope in her voice. It made his heart break.

"I can't," he said, springing the window opened and jumping out with an odd sort of grace. He scaled the balcony like a scared cat, trying to get away. There was saddness in her eyes as she got up and shut the window. She wasn't crying and her mouth was fixed in a dignified line. There were no tears welling but she looked like she was hurting terribly.

He stood somewhere in the woods nearby.

They were on opposite sides. She fought for Xavier; he fought for the Old Bucket Head and loving each other wasn't an option. A physical attraction was different, but love meant commitment. And then there was the question; did he love her back? The answer was easy for him. It had always been a yes. He'd just never expected her to love him in return, and he knew she was torn over her feelings, which was not the case for him. It was obvious.

But he wouldn't let this become a twisted, mutant Romeo and Juliet. She deserved better than that. And if Magneto ever found out he'd target her above any of the other X-men. There were hundreds of reasons standing in their way.

St. John walked home. He didn't feel like he was going home, though, but rather like he was leaving it. He was sure she'd never want to see him again, that she'd never want a late night meeting again. "Goodbye Amara," he whispered.