"Yo! Earth to Pyro!" Bobby Drake snapped his fingers under his best friend's nose. John had been staring moodily at his lighter flame for a good twenty minutes, and Bobby was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him.

"What? Sorry," John muttered, blinking and looking up.

"What's up with you, man?" Bobby demanded. "You're totally out of it. You have been for the last, like, three days."

"Sorry," John repeated, shaking his head a bit to clear it. The truth was, he couldn't stand to be around Bobby these days, at least not when his girlfriend Marie – or Rogue, as she preferred to be called – was there. One on one with either of them, John was perfectly comfortable; he and Bobby could joke around, be guys, and he and Rogue had gotten into some really great conversations. But when the three of them were together, Bobby and Rogue tended to go off into their own little world, leaving John feeling completely ignored and excluded. And they'd both gotten so damn condescending! Bobby used to be able to appreciate a good prank – hell, he'd helped John pull off more than a few of them since they'd been at school together. But lately every time he started to goof around, Bobby or Rogue would tell him to "be nice" or "grow up." Where the hell was the fun in that?

"Are you alright, John?" Rogue asked, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"I'm fine." Snapping his Zippo shut, John stood up. "I think I'm going to go practice for a little while. Later."

He stalked off across the lawns before they could find an excuse to call him back. He loved them both, he really did – but the sick feeling of resentment currently occupying the pit of his stomach was not making it easy to be around them just now.

He headed for the most secluded place he could think of, since he didn't particularly feel like dealing with people: a small stone courtyard tucked away in a far wooded corner of the school grounds. It wasn't used much – most of the other students preferred the green lawns or tree-lined walks for practicing – but Pyro liked this particular courtyard because it was out of the way and, because it was stone, it was far less likely he'd cause any serious damage if he missed.

Not that he missed, of course.

Much.

But to his confusion, when he stepped through the trees that hid the courtyard from the rest of the grounds, it… wasn't there. Instead, there was what looked like someone's living room. A couch sat facing an entertainment center; a small table beside it sported a trendy lamp and a steaming cup of something John presumed was coffee. The dusty blue carpet blended seamlessly back into grass when it reached the edge of the clearing. A woman was seated on the couch, watching the swirl of colors across the television screen, and a man… a man stood behind her, his back to John, and his hand was moving slowly toward the woman's shoulder…

Realizing he was staring, John moved to back up and leave whoever it was to their training – and as he did so, his foot caught a tree root and he suddenly found himself flat on his back and cursing loudly. He was dimly aware of the whole scene giving a strange glimmer, as if for a moment everything was glowing, and suddenly there was no more couch and no more television and no more woman, just the bare stone of the familiar courtyard, and Rhiannon Graves, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it and blinking at him.

"Shit," he groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position and feeling his ribs. "That's gonna hurt in the morning…"

Rhiannon leapt to her feet and scampered over to him. "Oh, jeez, are you okay? I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to startle you or anything—"

John looked up at her in surprise. What was this? She wasn't expecting him to apologize for interrupting her? She was actually apologizing for tripping him up, when it wasn't even her fault? Whoa… this was new. Suddenly he wanted to reassure her that she wasn't to blame.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, waving her off because she was hovering over him like an anxious mother hen. He scrambled to his feet with another groan, still clutching his right side. "See?" he said, spreading his arms to show her. "No harm done."

"You sure?" She looked up at him, still looking quite concerned.

"I'm sure," he said firmly – then yelped when she reached out and poked his side. "Hey!"

"Maybe you should go to the hospital wing," she said doubtfully.

"I'm FINE!" John snapped, getting annoyed again. It was only a damn tree root, and it was his own damn fault anyway!

Rhiannon seemed to shrink. "Sorry," she mumbled, speaking to his sneakers again.

Feeling guilty for snapping at someone who had only been trying to help him, John softened his tone. "'s alright," he said. "I just hate people fretting over me. Makes me feel like I'm two years old." She sniffed, and to his horror he realized she was crying. "Oh, shit," he said apologetically, "don't cry! Look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings – god—"

She shook her head. "It wasn't you," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her long sleeve.

"It wasn't?" John stared down at her, now thoroughly confused.

"No." She wiped her eye again, leaving a streak of black eyeliner smudged across her cheek. "I just…" she took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to be like this, I didn't expect anyone to be here. Not this early in the morning, anyway. I've just been thinking too much, that's all. And when you yelled, I just… Anyway, it's not your fault," she said again.

"Right." John gave up trying to follow her loopy logic and settled for the new topic of conversation. "You alright?" he asked. He kept staring at the stray streak of eyeliner; it was beginning to irritate him.

"Fine," she said firmly, finally looking him in the face once more. "Really," she added, when he continued to look at her skeptically.

"As long as you're sure," he said with a shrug, glancing at the streak again. He was itching to tell her to wipe it off.

She cocked one eyebrow at him. "Why the bugger do you keep staring at my cheek?" she demanded.

John jumped, startled by the change in her tone, and then gave her a sheepish smile. "Your makeup…" he said, gesturing at her cheek. "It smudged."

"Oh, fuck," she sighed, raising her sleeve again and rubbing at her cheek – missing the streak by several inches. "I forgot I was wearing eyeliner. Damn." Her sleeve finally found the streak, but only succeeded in smearing it further across her face.

"Here," John said suddenly, "let me get it." He reached out without thinking, moving to wipe the streak away with his own sleeve.

"Don't," she said softly, pulling her chin gently to one side and out of his hand.

John blinked, and realized what he'd just done. "Oh!" he exclaimed, yanking his hands back. "Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to do that – I'm sorry – look, I'm just gonna go." He turned on his heel, but found himself held back when she grabbed hold of his arm. He looked around at her, surprised.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said, and gave him a small smile. "I only meant, don't use your shirt sleeve. It's white. Wouldn't want to get black eyeliner all over it. The stuff doesn't wash out easily." She held up a small square of black fabric that she'd pulled out of a pocket; after a moment, John realized it was a handkerchief.

"You carry a handkerchief on you?" he said in amused disbelief, taking the thing and turning back to her. Who the hell carried a handkerchief these days?!

"I know it's silly," she said with shrug and a self-deprecating smile, "but that's just me. I'm unique, what can I say?"

'Unique' was definitely a good word for her, John thought as he gingerly took her chin in his hands again and used the handkerchief to wipe away the streak of black. She was certainly the only person he'd ever known who carried a handkerchief. And she was one of the very, very few who had ever apologized to him. He wondered vaguely why he kept coming back to that; for some reason, her willingness to apologize touched him in a way he had not expected, even if he did find a little ridiculous because the things she apologized for weren't her fault. Even so, he appreciated it more than he wanted to admit.

He tilted her face to one side to be sure he'd gotten all the black, and realized she was staring at him. "What?" he asked, trying to squash the tiny voice in his head that was pointing out how pretty her eyes were.

"Nothing," she said quickly, with a smile that made him seriously doubt her. "Have you got it all?"

"Uh. Yeah," he said, dropping his hands hurriedly and stepping away from her before giving the handkerchief back. "I'll let you get back to your practicing now, or whatever you were doing."

"Nah, it's all right," she said. "I think I need to lay off for a couple days."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said firmly, and for a moment she looked distant and incredibly sad. Then she looked up at him. "If… if you're going to practice here, d'you mind if I stay to watch for a while?"

"Watch?" He stared at her blankly. "Why?"

She shrugged, and to his amazement began to turn pink. "I dunno. I just have this… thing… about fire."

"A thing about fire," he repeated, still staring.

"Yeah." She shrugged again. "I mean, you saw me pretending to play with some the other day, you know, when we met. Last week. And…" she hung her head, back to staring at his shoes. "And I used to play with real fire, only then I got arrested for burning down a couple buildings. After that the Professor made me promise, no more real fire."

John gaped at her – he found it incredibly difficult to imagine that one. "You did what?" he burst out, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. "Not cool. But it wasn't people's houses or anything, it was just some old warehouses nobody wanted! They were going to tear them down anyway!" she explained, as though pleading with him to forgive her.

"Not cool? Are you kidding me? That's fucking awesome!" he exclaimed, grinning at her.

Rhiannon's jaw dropped. "Awesome? I—but—" She blinked. "Most people tell me I'm insane and I need serious therapy," she admitted. "I think you're the first person who ever called it cool."

"Yeah, well, you said yourself nobody was hurt. No harm done, right? Just a bunch of ashes and some big-shot CEO loses a couple thousand dollars to repairs."

For a moment, Rhiannon just stared at him, and then she gave him the biggest and brightest smile he'd ever seen. The change it made to her face was amazing, and for a fleeting moment he actually found himself thinking she was pretty. "So is that a yes, then?" she asked.

"Huh? Yes what?"

"Can I stay and watch you practice?"

John's chest swelled slightly with pride. So she liked fire, did she? Well, then he was damn well going to show her what fire could do. "Yeah, sure," he said casually, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. Maybe today wasn't going to be a complete waste of time after all. "You, ah, might want to stand back for this," he told her with a smirk, and flicked the lighter open.