Work Text:
Bobby is lying in bed. He blinks blearily, unsure of how long he's been staring blankly at the wall. He knows he should get up but, really, rolling out of bed would take effort he's just not willing to expend. It's too comfortable here.
Wrapped up in his sheets and snuggled under the weight of his heavy comforter like this, he can pretend that he's something close to being warm. It's a feeling that been particularly fleeting ever since his powers manifested and while he's learned to keep his physical temperature down, there's always been a core deep inside him that feels frozen. He's never been able to get it to melt all the way.
Slowly, Bobby rolls onto his back. Blankly, as if being pulled by puppet strings, he raises his hand to the ceiling and stares at it. Though his eyes are focussed on his hands, his mind is floating off elsewhere. He realizes that things used to be so much different back then.
He remembers back to when Hank picked him up and threw him around as they fought for the remote; when Warren flew them both up into the clouds above the school; when Scott laughed and showed him how to play pool properly; when Jean hugged him and ruffled his hair with affection; when the dinner table was just the five of them with the Professor looking on fondly. He remembers being warm.
He wonders when all of that stopped... But then he starts thinking about Hank going blue and Warren losing his wings and Jean flying into the heart of the sun and Scott with a bomb in his chest and he doesn't want to think about this anymore or ever.
Bobby's hand is suddenly heavy. He lets it drop and it hits the mattress with a dull thud. After a beat, he pulls his comforter a little closer to his body and rolls onto his side.
Blearily, he blinks and stares at the wall.