Scott had his eyes tight, trying to ignore the thunder from the storm. After the accident, he hated storms more than anything else. Well, almost anything; he really hated his optic blasts.
He heard a tentative knock on the door to his room. He was confused, was the professor calling him for something? Did he know he was awake?
“Scott?” The voice of a young boy came from behind the door. It made Scott more confused for a second before he remembered, him and the professor had just saved a young mutant, Robert “Bobby” Drake. “I…I’m scared. Can I—um—can I please sleep in your room. Please, I’m really scared.”
His voice was audibly cracking, it was clear he was crying. In a way, it sounded like Alex, and it made his chest tighten with an immense sadness. He stood up and navigated to his door, opening it.
“You’re always welcome to come in, Robert.”
“Bobby,” the boy corrected, standing there for a moment before slinking in.
Scott laid down in bed and left space for him to climb in. He crawled on the bed and borrowed into Scott, face in the crook of his shoulder and neck and arms around his torso.
With every crack of thunder or whipping of wind, Bobby flinched and whimpered, squeezing Scott like a lifeline. And every time, Scott squeezed him back, pet his hair and reassured him. He was sure almost getting hung didn’t help his nerves that night, but he hoped his words helped him a little bit, at least.
