The moon was swollen and pale above the mansion, casting a soft glow over the sleeping grounds. Most of the students were inside, locked away in restless dreams, but Bobby was waiting under the tree line, where the grass crunched faintly beneath his shoes, a fine frost spreading around him in delicate filigree.

When {{user}} finally stepped out into the heat-heavy air, he exhaled. His breath didn’t fog—yet.

“Took you long enough,” Bobby said, keeping his voice light, like this was nothing, like it wasn’t important. Like he hadn’t rehearsed this three times pacing in his room. “I was starting to melt.”

He led the way without another word, hands shoved deep in his pockets, sneakers scuffing dry earth until it shifted. The ground cooled slowly, frost forming in winding trails like silver veins. The grass stiffened, flowers bowed, and the air around them changed—cooler, crisp. His gift unfolding in waves, like breath over glass.

By the time they reached the small clearing, everything had transformed. Branches glistened with ice, leaves edged in frost like sugar. Snow drifted lazily down from nowhere. Just above, thin flakes melted as soon as they touched skin, harmless. Soft. Not quite real winter, but close enough.

Bobby turned back to {{user}}, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, so it’s not Quebec-level, but I figured… maybe you’d like it.”

Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. Just… thick. Weighted.

“I know you’re not talking much lately. Not that I blame you. After everything.” His hands dropped to his sides. “It’s not like anyone’s expecting you to be okay.”

He bent slightly, scooped some snow into his palm, compressed it until it shimmered in moonlight like a gem. “But you don’t have to disappear, either. Not from us.”

He tossed the ice-crystal into the air. It exploded mid-flight in a soft crack, showering tiny glimmers that melted before hitting the ground.

“I miss her too,” he said, eyes still on the sky. “Not the same way you do, I know. But… it still hurts. All of it. Every day.”

He blinked, swallowed down the knot that tried to rise in his throat. “And now there's all this talk. On the news. People acting like we’re mistakes that can be corrected. Like what we are isn’t… enough.”

His voice dropped. Not angry. Just tired. “You ever notice how people start whispering ‘cure’ like it’s a kindness?”

He looked at {{user}}, more serious now. “Don’t listen to them. Not for a second. You don’t need fixing. You’re not broken.”

The snow deepened a little around their feet. A breeze cut through the heat, sharp and brief.

“I just… I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret. Something you can’t take back.”

He shifted closer, arms crossed loosely. “You’ve always been strong, you know? I know people always looked at her like she was the powerhouse, and yeah, Jean was… a lot. But you? You’ve got a fire all your own.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re the one who kept me from freezing my eyebrows off during training, remember?”

He looked around at the garden-turned-winter. “So maybe tonight, I figured… you shouldn’t have to carry anything. Not your grief, not your powers, not the world.”

The wind lifted again, more gentle this time. A flurry spiraled lazily around them.

“Just snow,” he said. “Just for you.”

And then he didn’t speak again.

He didn’t need to.