To be honest; I was hesitating a long time for posting this. In this chapter I'm going to bring out a side of Pyro that I honestly do think exist, but I'm at the same time convinced that not many will agree with me.

I mainly got the idea from the fact that people always seems to be suprised when I tell them I like to write, they're telling me that I'm not the kind of person to be expected to. So if I'm not, why not Pyro to? Because to me, Pyro is the kind of guy who wold do whatever he wanted, even if others would call it stupid, childish, boring, or whatever.


As they arrived at the bedroom-floor they heard the noise of people talking, running, screaming, watching TV, playing games and using mutant powers. In other words; the other students were back. John wondered if he should go and find Bobby but decided not to. He would probably act the good boyfriend and spend all his time on Rogue as usual, and John had Warren to talk to.

As they walked past the common room John had been standing in before they could see three markings on the wall, it looked like the innocent wallpaper had become the victim of Logans anger when he couldn't catch the boys he were after.

"Do you think the professor knows yet" Warren asked, poking at one of the scratches, getting his nail under the wallpaper and lifting it so that they could see how deep it was.

"Probably not" John sniggered for no reason and it made Warren smile.

"I'm quite happy we got out in time."

"Well, what do you expect, God send his Angel to rescue me!" Warren laughed at this.

"So, what are we going to do now?" he asked after a while.

"I don't know, weren't you heading for the library?"

Warren had to think for a while before he remembered how he first started to talk to John.

"Yeah, that's right." Warren laughed. "And if I remembered it right, you never showed me the way." Now John laughed too.

"That right. Well, off we go!"

In the library, the professor had made sure the students could find anything they wanted in book-way. If you couldn't find what you wanted, you could write down the book-title on a list at the wall and the professor would either help you to find a library that had it, or he would by it. The whole place was formed as a labyrinth, with shelves filled with books standing so that you couldn't really get lost, but you'd easy be alone if you wanted to.

Many students used the library regularly, and John was actually quite fond of it. But as soon as the teachers discovered this he had to swear on never even playing with his lighter in here. John slightly wondered how stupid they thought he was. In here the flame in his heart never grew, even if it didn't get smaller either. In here, especially in the old sofa in the corner, at the window, John could find all the peace you could ask for. It was hidden behind the bookshelves, and it was the perfect place to watch the sunset from. John usually had the place all to himself; the other students seemed to prefer the chairs and sofas in the middle of the room, or the ones at the fireplace. John had actually no idea why this sofa was here all alone, but he liked it.

When Warren disappeared behind the shelves John went to what you easily could call his place´. There he sat down, looking out through the window. It was still a few hours until the sun would start with its daily painting of the east part of the sky. John let the calm wave in over him as he sank deeper into the sofa. He was half asleep when Warren suddenly came around the corner. John smiled lazily at him, not moving a bit.

"Nice hiding-place you've got." The Angel commented.

"Mmmm…" was all John said. Warren sat down next to him and started to look trough the book, as if he was looking for something and not really interested in reading.

"What you've got there?" John asked, suddenly curious.

Warren looked up with a sad smile;

"I have as homework to write a poem, so I'm looking for inspiration."

"You're looking in books for that?"

"Where else should I look? I don't want to go outside, even if that would work better."

"No, but when I made that same homework, you got it from the professor right," Warren nodded, "I sat in here and just wrote down what I thought, and it turned out quite good."

Warren looked a bit disbelieving at him; "Do you use to write poetry?"

John shrugged; "When I feel for it, or get a good idea, otherwise, it's useless to try."

"You're not really the guy you'd expect to write."

"Yeah, I know, I usually don't tell people. Hell, I have no idea why I'm telling you, I hardly know you. But as I said, it only works when I'm getting a good idea and want to write it down."

"So you think you can help me?"

"I can try, but I don't know if everyone work the same way as I do."

"Just tell me how you get ideas." Warren pleaded.

John thought for a moment; "I honestly don't really know how I do. I only sit, thinking at something, try to find different ways of describing things, and when I get it in a good way I write that down." he tried to explain.

Warren nodded slowly, thinking about it. He then looked at the paper and the pen he had on the book in his lap.

"You think you could help me with the start?" He then asked. John smiled and took the paper and the pen. Then he sat for a moment, just looking out trough the window, thinking about something Warren might be able to write about, mainly because he liked it. He then began to write, while Warren looked over his shoulder. Then John gave the paper back to him and the Angel read trough it again. It was only a start, but it was really good. Warren tried something, crossed it out and wrote again. After a while John took the pen and wrote a bit, before he gave it back. And so it went on until it was done.

"Not bad." John said, taking the paper and reading trough it all in a mumbling voice;

The flying wind

The wind start to fly,

Over land, trough the sky,

It's feeling the freedom it is.

Make waves on the lake,

Make leaves start to shake,

Say farewell to the clouds with a kiss.

It plays with the sun,

When time start to run,

It whisper its name in you're ear

A melody, its name,

And it's never the same,

It's a song that none can hear.

A story untold,

A breath so cold,

Can't you hear it when it call?

It asks you to play,

But what do you say?

You do not answer at all.

But it's used to this,

It is what it is,

When it's flying on angel-wing

When it fly with a bird,

It's one of the herd,

Together they both start to sing.

To speak without voice,

It was its own choice,

To be able to be with the sky

It's the only rule,

It's freedom, its soul,

Guard when the wind starts to fly.

The soul of a child,

So happy and wild,

It's dancing with the winter snow.

It's free, it can fly,

And will never die,

And through the time it will never grow.

An immortal young,

With a voiceless song,

Careless laughter, never to cry.

Give it a chance,

Watch it dance,

A childlike angel, the wind will fly.

John then felt he wanted something warm to drink;

"Hey, do you want to go down to the kitchen and get a snack?"

Warren thought for a moment before he shrugged;

"Okay."

At the stair the walked into Rogue and Bobby, who was heading upstairs.

"Hi, John!" Rogue smiled and hugged him. After she'd got the cure she'd become really clingy; hugging, holding hands, giving high fives or just standing or sitting really close to anybody, as if she couldn't get enough. But all the other students were starting to get enough. John thought she acted like a sort of whore that you didn't have to pay. He would never say it out loud though; Logan would for sure kill him really slow if he found out, if he could chop him out from the iceberg Bobby would turn him into. Bobby still acted as if everything was fine between him and Rogue, despite the fact that she had been going out and making out with other guys, and everybody knew it.

"Who's you're friend?" Rogue said, looking at Warren. She did for sure already know who he was; she had been in the middle of the giggling girl-group in John's class. What made John a little surprised was the way Bobby looked at Warren; it was as if he disliked the angel-mutant. John hadn't seen him look like that on any other guy Rogue had been going out with.

"This is Warren, Warren, this is Bobby and Rogue." John drabbled on, wanting to get away from the weird atmosphere. Rogue happily shook Warrens hand and held it for a moment more than necessary. Bobby just nodded.

"So what are you guys going to do?" Rogue asked, ignoring John glaring at her.

"We were just going to the kitchens…" Warren started, but Rogue interrupted;

"Care if we join in?" Warren didn't answer immediately, but looked at John who shrugged.

"Okay, I guess." John sighed.

"Great!" Rogue smiled, but she was the only one. By now Warren too had noticed the weird look he was getting from Bobby and was obviously feeling uncomfortable. John was starting to get another headache, both from the cold and for using his powers a little too much, and Rogue wasn't exactly helping.

In the kitchen, Bobby immediately dived into the fridge and picked the biggest box of ice-cream he could find. Knowing he wouldn't share, Rogue picked a cola and had her boyfriend to cool it for her. John started to warm up milk for him and Warren, while the angel dug trough the cupboards, looking for the cacao. Finding it, he handed it to John who put some into the two cups he'd found. He then added some sugar and stirred it until it was mixed just like he wanted it, before he poured the perfect warm milk over it. John was known for being an expert at hot chocolate so when he handed Warren his cup and he tasted it, he got a pleasant surprise.

"Is it good?" John asked.

"Mmmm." Warren answered, never putting down his cup. Swallowing, he smiled;

"The best I've ever had. How did you do it?" He took another small sip, he wanted to taste it but at the same time have as much as possible left. John grinned happily at the comment. Nobody noticed that Bobby's frown ha deepened and that he dug his spoon forcefully into the half melted ice cream.


Now, please, don't be angry if I happened to make Pyro look a bit odd. It's a fact that it helps to write down you're feelings if you want to get them out. Now I'm not talking about writing exactly what you think, just someting with the same feeling, the same point of wiew as you have at that moment. It's the way I survive in my world.

The Poem used here is something I wrote myself, so I own it. It was, at the moment, something I usd to get less sentimental, before I did something I would regret.

I also want to apologise to all the Rogue-lovers in the world, but as you can read; I'm not one of you.