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“Don’t tell me you’re leaving tomorrow!” Battery complains as he and Kurt walk through the snow, boots kicking up slush.
The little stores around them are all set up for the holiday, with decorations and storefront window displays and Battery feels like he’s slipped into a Hallmark movie—an incredibly, so incredibly that it’s almost vaguely, American Hallmark movie.
Kurt knocks into him, softly. His holographic form is beautiful, no more than his normal body, blue hair waving to his shoulders, his smile, his eyes. It’s all very much him, a continued humanness that doesn’t even consider consuming him, no matter how much Kurt wishes it would.
Battery thinks of himself as lucky. His mutant abilities don’t affect him visually unless he gets hurt— then the skin replacing itself is seen— then he is truly exposed and vulnerable. However, normally he can walk around like any other teenager and not have to worry. He can go to school and sleep in class without restless paranoia that somebody will tap him on the shoulder and feel the fur his skin-suit is trying so very desperately to hide.
Kurt, obviously, doesn’t have that. He worries, and he worries a lot. Perhaps nobody but the Professor notices, but Battery notices.
To the outside world, it’s two teenaged boys walking home from school, backpacks slung carelessly over their shoulders and snowflakes in their curls. They are not mutants, they are not hated.
“My parents are going to pick me up,” Kurt answers, looking down at the ground before glancing back up at him, hair falling into his eyes.
Battery swipes his blond hair back, letting it curl around his ears.
“Yeah, I know. I just wish you stayed at least one more day,” he admits, sticking his hands in his pockets to warm them back up.
“So I can watch you leave?” Kurt asks, and suddenly there’s a shift.
Battery almost trips over slush. He steadies himself and looks at Kurt. “I don’t want you to watch me leave,” he says, decidedly firm.
“Then what do you want?” he asks, softly, curiously.
Battery blinks, attempting to flick rapidly melting snow out of his eyelashes. “I dunno. I just miss you sometimes. We’ll be in separate classrooms and I’ll miss you. It’s a longing, I guess— I dun— it’s stupid. Fuck, dude, I’m a overdramatic teenager with overdramatic woes. I love seeing my dad, but I like seeing you too. And seeing my dad and you in the same place would have everything connecting.”
Kurt takes a moment to respond. “I understand that, I guess. I mean, seeing my parents and you in the same room would fix something.”
Battery’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Fix something? Fix what?”
Kurt flounders beside him. “Is that—?” he starts, trying to translate. “Maybe I made a mistake with my words.”
Battery reaches towards the small gap in between them and grasps Kurt’s hand, squeezing lightly. Then, he lets it go as soon as he sees the other’s face, wide eyed and nervous with flushed cheeks.
Another thing about his holograph form: Battery is able to see his blush.
“I’ll make sure to meet your parents, if that’s what you want. I’ll introduce myself as your best friend—and it’ll all go over smoothly,” Battery says.
Kurt looks down at their hands, at their distance. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything at all.”
Battery throws an arm over his shoulder, their jackets creak together. “At least let me carry your bags! I know I can’t teleport but I’ve got to do something boyfriend-y.”
“Boyfriend-y?” Kurt presses his nose into Battery’s cheeks, then plays it off as nothing more than a passing gesture to the outside world.
“I think that’s what we are, yeah? Basically, I’m Jane and you’re Lisbon,” he explains.
Kurt tilts his head, puppy dog like. “Who? What are you saying?”
“The Mentalist. Have you really not—? Okay, we are watching that tonight. You teleport your ass into my room.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “I would have done that anyways.”
Silence accompanies that. Battery doesn’t like silence, it eats away at him, tearing flesh from his bones, it’s an all encompassing sound.
“Do you really want me to call us just friends?”
“Yes. For now, anyways. I haven’t actually told my parents anything. Other than I’m having a good time in America.”
“I hate America.”
“I know you do.”
“I told my dad everything— well, not everything. Just the basics.”
“I know you did.”