Chapter Text
Kon’s day was off to a rough start. He was in Metropolis, crashing with Clark and Lois for a few days, a new setup he was still getting used to. Not that it was bad. Actually, he kind of liked it. Lois, ever the effortless host, made him feel right at home with her sharp wit and easygoing charm. Clark, on the other hand… Well, that was a different story. The guy always seemed a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to act around him. Which was…fair. Kon didn’t really know how to act around him either, they’re relationship had mellowed throughout the years, he’d even started seeing Clark as a father figure. Until he died. That was the thing about dying, it had a way of shifting things, changing dynamics, twisting relationships in ways Kon never expected. Some of those changes had been for the better, sure, but others? Not so much.
Cassie’s face, streaked with tears and contorted with anger, flashed in his mind at the thought. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut, her words echoing in his ears. You weren’t supposed to die. You can’t just disappear like that. Kon exhaled, rubbing his temple as if the memory would dissipate with the motion. But it never did.
Spending more time with Clark and Lois seemed like a good break, a way to try and reconnect. Plus he needed to get out of the farm. Ma had been on him nonstop since he got back, hovering like she was afraid he might disappear if she looked away for too long. And then there was that look, the kind that twisted something deep in his chest, a mix of sorrow and something unspoken. He’d never seen her like that before. It hurt. Pa wasn’t much better, but at least he was trying. Quiet pats on the back, small attempts at conversation like he wanted to move forward but just didn’t know how. And maybe that was the worst part.
The morning had started off just fine, easy chatter filling the space. Clark was on one of his usual rants about his latest article revisions, passionately dissecting every little detail. Lois chimed in with her sharp-witted commentary, adding her two cents when she felt like it. And then there was Kon. He sat quietly, half-listening, half-lost in his own thoughts. Lately, he felt adrift, caught in a strange sort of limbo. The idea of getting a job loomed over him, more intimidating than it had any right to be. And as much as he wasn’t ready to give up being Superboy, that role felt... occupied now. So what did that leave him with?
Just Kon.
"Kon , you alright?"
Clark’s voice pulled him from the depths of his thoughts. Blinking up at the concerned faces watching him, he exhaled softly, shoulders sinking under the weight of something he couldn’t quite name.
"Yeah, just peachy," he muttered, barely putting in the effort to sound convincing. "I think I’m gonna take a walk."
Maybe staying over hadn’t been the best idea. The easy, domestic rhythm of the apartment, the warmth, the familiarity was starting to gnaw at him, stirring up something restless in his chest. Jealousy? Anxiety? Longing? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he didn’t like it. Kon pushed himself up from the table, the scrape of his chair against the floor barely registering as he grabbed his jacket. Without a glance at the concerned faces still watching him, he headed for the door, the weight of their gazes not worth lingering on. A breath of fresh air would clear his head. It had to.
...
Kon had been walking for a good fifteen minutes, his mind still in overdrive, trying to shake off the thoughts currently plaguing his mind. His head was a tangled mess when a sleek black limo pulled up beside him, its engine purring like a predator waiting to pounce. He knew, without a doubt, who it was. With a sigh, Kon leaned into the now-opening window, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and curiosity. "You couldn't have picked a more obvious time, huh?"
"Lex, I’m really not in the mood for whatever evil plan you’re plotting now," Kon muttered, not even bothering to look up as he leaned against the limo. He was already half-dreading whatever sarcastic banter Luthor would throw his way. Unfortunately, that was his first mistake. The window slid open, but instead of the familiar smirk of Lex Luthor, a much darker figure emerged. A man he didn’t recognize, with a needle in hand. The glowing green tip of the needle caught the light, and Kon’s blood ran cold. Kryptonite.
His instinct was to move, but it was already too late.
Before Kon had even finished his sentence, the man’s grip shot out, grabbing his arm with an unnerving strength. He barely had time to react before the needle plunged into his skin, a sharp, burning pain shooting through his veins. Kon’s vision blurred as the world around him began to spin. The window slammed shut, and the limo shot off down the street, leaving him standing there, paralyzed by the cold, suffocating grip of kryptonite coursing through his body. His legs buckled beneath him, and he barely caught himself against a nearby lamppost, struggling to stay conscious.
Kon's mind swirled in a haze of panic and confusion. He barely remembered calling out Clark's name, his voice weak and strained, swallowed by the overwhelming sensation of the kryptonite poisoning his every cell. And then, as if reality itself had warped, one moment he was crumpled on the cold sidewalk, unable to move, and the next, he was weightless, cradled in Superman's strong arms. The wind rushed around them as Clark flew at impossible speed, the world a blur of motion. Kon barely registered the familiar, comforting warmth of Clark's presence as they streaked through the sky, headed toward the Fortress of Solitude. His vision dimmed, his body feeling like it was being torn apart, and all he could focus on was the steady pulse of Clark's heartbeat, a lifeline in the chaos.
…
“It seems to be some kind of supercharged bacteria,” Clark’s voice was steady, but Kon could feel the tension beneath it, a barely-contained undercurrent that slipped through despite his calm tone. Even in the haze of whatever was swimming through his system, he could sense it. Clark was holding something back. The barrage of questions had been relentless. How had Luthor pulled this off? What exactly had Kon been exposed to? Tests had followed, some of which Kon was pretty sure were being sent to a certain Bat, judging by the way Clark kept glancing at his phone every few seconds.
"My best bet is you’ll probably get some kind of flu. Nothing too deadly..." Clark continued, but his words didn’t quite reach Kon’s focus. His mind was too foggy to process all the details. “Your powers don’t even seem affected.” A small, almost involuntary laugh bubbled up in Kon’s throat. Flu. Yeah, sure. As if that was going to be the worst of it.
Kon tried to focus on Clark’s words, but his head felt like it was swimming through a fog. The cold sweat on his skin only made it worse. Flu? That didn’t sound like something Kryptonite would do. His body shuddered involuntarily, his strength draining away. A shiver ran down his spine, his strength draining away as if it were being siphoned out of him, leaving him weaker by the second. He barely registered the change in Clark’s expression until a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Clark was worried. Kon could feel it. The tension in his posture, the way his hands twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to do something, anything, to fix this. It made Kon want to fight back, but he couldn’t find the energy.
“ You're kidding? A flu shot?” Kon groaned, his voice weak but laced with sarcasm, trying to break through the fog of discomfort. “I know he was against those anti-vaxxer accusations, but this is a little much.” He slumped back into his seat in the Fortress, his body feeling like it was made of lead. Despite the pain, Kon couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, not sure whether to laugh or groan at the absurdity of the situation. Clark's unwavering care, however, made the sarcasm feel more like a defense than anything else.
Clark’s voice was gentle but firm as he looked down at Kon, his brow furrowed with concern. “You should go home, Kon. You’re always welcome at the apartment, but Ma will want to watch over you.” Kon sighed, the weight of his situation pressing down harder. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with Ma’s hovering, but the thought of being alone in this mess didn’t feel much better. He knew Clark was right.
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, though he wasn’t so sure. "I’ll figure something out."
But the idea of going back to the farm, with Ma’s worried eyes and Pa’s silent attempts to comfort him, suddenly seemed less like an obligation and more like a strange kind of imprisonment. Clark’s kicked puppy dog expression doesn’t fill him with confidence that his apartment would be any better either. Kon considered his options before an idea struck. A certain someone had been sick recently and probably won’t kick him out.
“Actually, I might know a place.” Kon said quickly, before Clark could even open his mouth to ask or more likely argue. Kon was already shakily lifting off, the Fortress of Solitude shrinking below him. Gotham was calling, and Batman’s disapproval could wait. He needed to see Tim, just for a moment, someone who wasn’t family, someone who wouldn’t look at him with pity or try to hover over him. He just needed a break from the weight of it all, to be around someone who would let him breathe without the constant worry of being "protected" or "looked after."
…
Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that some cosmic force had it out for him. What had he done to anger the universe, or worse, the deity that decided to play cruel jokes on him? He had almost convinced himself that he was getting off easy after the nightmare of being waterboarded in the toxic sludge they dared call water at the harbor. Sure, he’d been sick for a day or two, but compared to what could’ve happened, he’d counted himself lucky. That was until Kon showed up. At first, Tim had tried to ignore the man’s arrival, like a momentary glitch in the fabric of his misery, but Kon’s presence lingered like an uninvited guest. He hadn't expected him to stay, certainly not for the long haul. Yet, there Kon was, unbothered, as if fate had decided to throw a wrench in the machinery of Tim’s already messed-up existence.
Tim had been certain he’d screwed things up beyond repair with Kon. He'd played the part of the screw-up so well that he was sure Kon wouldn’t even think about reaching out again, not after everything. And yet, when Kon unabashedly kept turning up after the fact, it hit Tim like a slap across the face.
And worst of all? He had to let Kon take care of him like he was a child. It was humiliating, to say the least.
Every moment of that hell was a new level of embarrassment, as Kon hovered over him, tending to his sick, mostly unconscious form like some nursemaid. Albeit, not an amazing one. The whole thing should’ve been the nail in the coffin, the kind of moment that would drive anyone away for good. But somehow, Kon stayed. Kon’s fingers had been so delicate in Tim’s hair, like he was handling something fragile, something worth taking care of. It felt strange, almost too intimate for the mess Tim was in, but there was no denying the way Kon lingered, calm and unbothered by the wreckage of Tim’s pride. Tim had even lied to his face about what had actually happened, or at least half lied. Sue him, he didn’t want to tell the overprotective superhuman that he’d gotten himself tangled in his own mess, yet again. Even if it did work out in the end like he knew it would. Or mostly would.
And now, here he was again.
Kon had come stumbling in through his window, it was a kind of quiet invasion that made Tim wonder if he was dreaming, he hadn’t thought they had plans but then again it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s hallucinated someone either but he’s not running that low on sleep yet.
Something was off with Kon though, and Tim couldn't quite put his finger on it. When he'd stumbled in, nearly making himself a pile on the floor, he was practically glowing, too glowing, like he'd swallowed the sun and was trying to pass it off as normal kind of glowing. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he couldn’t stop fiddling with a spot on his arm, that set off a quiet alarm in Tim's mind. Kon wasn’t acting like himself. His usual energy seemed… off, as if he'd been running on fumes just to get to Tim’s.. As soon as he hit the couch, Tim noticed it, the way he sank into the cushions, like it took more effort than it should have to keep himself upright. His posture, usually so casual and effortless, now seemed like a fragile balance between staying alert and giving in to exhaustion.
“You know my house isn’t open to just anyone.”
Kon shot him a side-eye, slumping onto the couch with exaggerated laziness. “Wow, I’m the general public now?” He let out a mock gasp. “I always knew you were a classist, Tim.”
Tim rolled his eyes, the sharp edge of his sarcasm cutting through the air. “General public doesn’t refer to class, dipshit.”
Kon grinned, puffing out his chest as if he were some kind of invincible force. “Oh, come off it, Tim. You’re desperately in need of my presence, and you know it.” His smile was pure sunshine, blinding in its overconfidence.
Tim wasn’t sure why, but something in him stirred as Kon sat next to him. Huffing down next to him like he was the one paying the bills, rearranging his limbs into a comfortable position, one firmly gripped on the remote, the other lounging on the back of the couch behind Tim’s head. Kon kept fidgeting with the remote, eyes focused intently on the screen as if it could distract him from whatever was really going on. Tim's gaze drifted back to Kon’s arm, to the spot he kept picking at. The skin was a little red, irritated, and in the center, there was a small, pinprick-like mark. It wasn’t much, but the way Kon seemed to avoid it while simultaneously drawing attention to it told Tim all he needed to know.
Ah, so that’s it.
Kon might have been fully engrossed in finding the right channel, but Tim wasn’t so easily distracted. Without warning, he reached out and pressed a finger into the small wound. Kon's hand faltered mid-click, and for a second, the air between them froze, just long enough for Tim to see the flash of discomfort in Kon’s eyes. Then, almost as if on cue, Kon let out a quiet breath, his posture stiffening slightly.
"That's new," Tim said, his voice soft but laced with something sharp, a mix of concern and curiosity.
Kon’s eyes flicked to him, almost guilty, like he hadn’t expected Tim to catch on. Tim would be offended by that notion if the guy didn’t already look like he was about to keel over. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, his usual confident tone tinged with something off.
“Just... a little scrape.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch between them like a rubber band ready to snap. “Okay, what was in that little scrape?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it now, one that made it clear he wasn’t about to let this slide. Tim knows an injection mark when he sees one.If Kon was going to crash at his place, he could at least have the decency to tell him if he was actively dying, or about to lose his mind in a fit of delirium. Maybe it was the Gothamite in him, but Tim wasn't a fan of playing host to someone who had been injected with some mysterious chemical cocktail and didn’t think it was worth mentioning. That old tale never seemed to end well.
Kon shifted, eyes darting away from Tim's gaze, but the effort to hide it was a bit too obvious.
“It’s nothing,” he said, too quickly, his voice faltering just slightly.
“Just a scrape, seriously. It's not a big deal.” Tim let the words hang in the air for a second, measuring him. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.
“If you’re telling me it’s just a scrape, then why are you still picking at it like it’s going to bite you back?” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing on the small wound, feeling the weight of Kon’s silence as it stretched out.
Kon paused for a moment, his gaze flickering between the TV and Tim, like he was weighing how much to reveal. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping just slightly in resignation. “Fine,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “Lex managed to inject me with some sort of fluid while I was dressed as a civilian.”
Tim froze, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing, letting Kon continue.
Kon’s face was oddly guarded now, a look Tim didn’t often see from him. “Clark already had a look at it,” he went on, his voice low, as if the whole thing still made him uncomfortable.
“He said it looked like some kind of supercharged flu shot. It’s not serious, I can handle it, it’s been handled.” He tacked on that last part quickly, but the way his expression softened like he was hoping Tim would just drop it.
Tim studied him for a long moment, watching the tension in Kon's face. The guy had a way of talking fast and easy when he was trying to brush something off, but the flicker of vulnerability there didn’t escape Tim. Lex Luther formulating a new plan was never a good sign. However if Superman himself is investigating and Kon is sat on Tim’s couch and not getting questioned or put on lockdown then there isn’t much Tim can really do about it. Other than slowly keep up with the information. It might turn out helpful for him in the long run to know if Luthor's plans are foiled or not.
“Well, when Superman tells you it’s nothing, I guess I should probably take his word for it,” Tim said, the words dripping with just the right amount of sarcasm.
His lips curled in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and for a split second, the bitterness between them flickered back to life. The words Even if he didn’t take mine hung in the air, unspoken but undeniably present, like a shadow that refused to leave. Tim didn’t want to linger on it, but the feeling gnawed at him. Kon, the person he barely understood but trusted more than anyone, was standing there acting like everything was fine when Tim knew better. Flu shot be damned.
Tim exhaled sharply, leaning back on the couch. "Alright, fine," he muttered, almost to himself. "But if you start sprouting extra limbs or something, I want to be the first to know."
Kon shot him a tired, half-hearted grin, but there was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. “Sir, yes, Sir."
Kon slipped into a quiet slumber shortly after finding what Tim could only describe as the worst TV show he’d ever had the displeasure of watching. Tim couldn’t quite figure out how Kon had managed to fall asleep so fast, his head tipped awkwardly against his arm in a position that practically screamed crick in the neck . Not that he was sure Kon was even capable of getting one, but the sight of him slumped there, completely out of it, still made Tim want to cringe. How does he do that? Just collapse like that without a second thought?
Tim didn’t even know how Kon managed to stumble upon something so mind-numbingly ridiculous. He thinks Kon does it on purpose to annoy him, he’s never seen him watch them outside of his apartment. Although his taste in TV had always been questionable. The show was one of those absurd reality competitions, with overly dramatic music and contestants arguing over things that didn’t seem to matter at all. Tim’s eyes practically burned from how bad it was, and yet Kon, of all people, seemed to find it fascinating. The urge to change the channel to anything, really, whether it was sports, the crime report, or even a rerun of some old cartoon, it itched at Tim like a constant pull. His fingers twitched for the remote, but he fought it, letting the hum of the terrible show fill the room instead.As Kon's peaceful, rhythmic breaths filled the quiet room, Tim considered his predicament. If this was the flu shot they were talking about, Kon was in for one hell of a ride. Flu shots had a way of knocking Tim flat for a few days, a consequence of his missing spleen, a detail he’d kept tucked away for the time being. But Kon?
His immune system was practically legendary. Nothing had ever breached his defenses, not even a scrape. Whatever concoction Luthor had injected into him was bound to be an assault, a shock to the body that Kon had never experienced. Why Kon decided to crash at Tim’s penthouse in Gotham, the murkiest and darkest city in New Jersey, and not anywhere else with preferably more sunlight was beyond him.
Tim wasn’t sure if he should even do anything.
He wasn’t exactly known for his nurturing side. Not like Kon, who had always been the mom friend in their group. Kon was the one who knew how to comfort, how to show up with warmth and reassurance. Tim? He’d always fallen into the role of the strict, emotionally distant father figure. Leading by example was his thing, and he did it well. But looking after a sick superhuman? That was well outside his wheelhouse. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could take care of a regular person with the flu without coming off as stiff and awkward. Sure, he could insert an IV and monitor vital signs like he was medically trained, but bedside manner? That was an entirely different skill set. One Tim had never bothered to learn, never had to. When Tim was sick as a child, his caretaker would show up with a washcloth and basin, pressing medicine into his hands like a ritual. The routine was cold, mechanical, force-feed him the pills, wipe his forehead, then disappear as soon as the clock struck 5 p.m. His parents were never big on overtime, never on the idea of sticking around. Tim had always felt it, the unspoken message that his well-being was secondary to whatever else demanded their attention. And in the end, it always felt like he wasn’t worth the effort, not really.
When Tim was ill, Alfred was a world apart from the cold routine of his childhood caregivers. Alfred was meticulous, his care nothing short of methodical. An IV would be in place, his body’s condition monitored with precision. Every hour, there’d be a check-in, as though Alfred’s very presence was a constant reassurance that things were under control. It was terrifyingly efficient, like everything Alfred did. Then there was the time he’d had the clench. Tim could never quite remember it clearly, the fever fogging everything, but he thought he remembered Dick, hovering over his bed, holding his hand with a trembling grip. Dick’s voice, soft and desperate, telling him everything would be alright. But Tim wasn’t sure. Was it real? Or just the fever’s final mercy, a hallucination to offer him one last moment of peace before he slipped under for good?
And then, there was Kon. The one who didn’t follow any protocol but somehow made it work. His version of caregiving was rough around the edges. Kon draped an attempt at a washcloth over Tim’s forehead, his arms strong and sure as they lifted him back to bed. Kon’s fingers, surprisingly gentle, wove through Tim’s hair like he knew exactly what to do, even if he didn’t. In the haze of fever, Tim had almost convinced himself he was dying. The poison from Gotham’s harbor creeping into his organs, bringing him closer to the edge. He figured it made sense for his estranged best friend to be the one carrying him out of it, the one he had never expected to be there. But death didn’t come. Kon didn’t leave. Tim woke the next morning, a hand still tangled in his hair, his limbs sprawled across Kon’s chest like he was holding onto something that mattered. And now, Tim supposed it was his turn. Time to repay the favor.
Kon being superhuman certainly made things tricky. Medication? Tim wasn’t even sure if it would touch him. Would it work? Would anything work? He wasn’t entirely convinced that anything, anything human, could really help Kon. His physiology wasn’t like theirs, his body a mix of things that made it practically untouchable by regular means. What could Tim even do? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he could do anything. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.
Tim’s gaze swept across the living room, landing almost instinctively on Kon, still deeply lost in sleep on the couch. Even from where he sat, it was hard to miss the subtle signs of something off. Kon’s skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, the unnatural pallor starting to settle in, making him look strangely fragile. Tim’s mind shifted into gear. He moved toward a drawer, fingers instinctively finding their way to something he’d tucked away there. A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips when he spotted it, a package of superhero band-aids. He had bought them on a whim once, thinking, Who wouldn’t want a Wonder Woman band-aid in a crisis?
Grabbing the box, he made his way back to the couch. His fingers brushed over the pile of colorful band-aids, each one more absurd than the last, but he knew, deep down, that the real care would come from something more than just a silly patch on the skin. Still, a small part of him found comfort in the simple absurdity of it all. With a small, almost amused sigh, he carefully peeled one from the pile and applied it to Kon’s tiny, pinprick wound. A little extra precaution never hurt, especially when it came to a guy who never seemed to catch a break. Better safe than sorry. At least Cassie would approve.
The faint shift in Kon’s posture was enough to make Tim pause, eyes widening slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected him to wake up from that… Stepping back, he cleared his throat, though his gaze never left Kon’s face.
“You feeling alright?” he asked, though the disgruntled frown spreading across Kon's features was all the answer Tim needed. Still, pleasantries were important, right? His mother’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him that even in the worst of times, a little politeness went a long way.
Kon shook his head, wincing as the motion seemed to stab at his skull. Tim could practically hear the throb of a headache settling in.
“Why do I feel so awful already?” Kon muttered, his voice thick with discomfort, barely above a whisper. It was less a question, more a groan of disbelief, as if his body was betraying him in the worst possible way. Tim’s lips twitched into a knowing, sympathetic smile. This was about to get interesting. He hummed slightly in response, he doubted the question was genuine, crouching down slightly, his tone gentle but laced with an underlying concern.
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” The words were calm, but his mind was anything but. The urge to scold Kon for being reckless enough to let Lex Luthor jab him with something was bubbling in the back of his mind, but he held it in there'd be time for that later. He’d make damn sure of that. For now, he couldn’t help but notice the puppy-dog expression on Kon’s face, the one that was a mix of exhaustion and vulnerability. It was enough to make Tim swallow his frustration, at least for the moment. Kon's eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as the words took their time to sink in. His brows furrowed in thought, a small frown tugging at his lips as he mulled over the question.
It was almost endearing.
Almost.
If it weren't for the fact that he was running on fumes, with a dose of who-knows-what that Luthor had dreamed up. “I mean, I already got checked out,” Kon finally mumbled, sounding a little distant.
“Plus, I don’t wanna bother Ma... she deserves a night off.” His voice trailed off, as if the weight of his own words were too heavy to hold on to for long. Tim couldn’t help but soften a bit, even if Kon’s stubbornness was going to be the death of him one day.
“But I don’t?” Tim's voice softened, a sigh escaping as he ran a hand through his hair and pushed his bangs aside. They were getting long again. "I’m patrolling later, you know?" He mumbled the words, unsure if Kon was even hearing him anymore.
“It’s fine, I can just stay on the couch and watch TV.” Kon’s voice was too cheerful, too light for someone whose body might be shutting down from the inside out.
Tim’s brow furrowed, a mix of concern and disbelief creeping in. He paused for a moment, then asked, “You wanna stay on the couch?” His tone was quizzical, but there was an underlying tone in his words, something that said are you sure?
Tim glanced at the couch, then back at Kon, biting his lip. The couch was cozy enough, but Kon was... well, Kon. Built like a tank, too broad and slightly too tall to make it comfortable for long, especially if his fever spiked and he really started feeling sick. Tim probably shouldn’t have made it an option.. He knew the couch wasn’t going to cut it, not for the long haul. But dragging a superhuman with the strength of an army into his bed? That seemed like a whole different level of impossible. The thought of trying to maneuver a fevered, deadweight Kon into his bed was enough to make him question his decision. But he’d cross that bridge when they came to it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to dive into why Kon would rather let him play nurse for the evening than call on Martha Kent, a literal goddess of nurturing and care. Maybe it was the whole “don’t bother Ma” thing, but the fact that Kon was choosing him, of all people, made Tim’s head spin a little. He wasn’t nearly as equipped to handle whatever was coming down the line as Martha was, but the idea of turning Kon away felt... wrong . Besides, Tim technically still owed him for that one time Kon so graciously took care of him, a favor Kon may never let him forget if he kicks him to the curb now.
Never mind that Kon’s idea of “taking care” mostly involved draping a damp, musty T-shirt over Tim’s forehead and wrapping him up in a cuddle like some kind of overgrown, self-satisfied space heater. Tim couldn’t really complain though, the company had been nice, he doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting Kon’s hands in his hair anytime soon either. Tim had made up his mind. Bed it was. He could probably leave Kon here to settle in while he quickly changed his bedsheets and spot-cleaned the room, nothing major, just enough to make it bearable. He hadn’t exactly planned on having anyone in his room anytime soon, but Kon always managed to defy expectations. Tim wasn't sure what it was about the guy, but he seemed to have a knack for making himself at home, even in places Tim never thought would be shared. It wasn’t like he minded. Not really. But still, it was a little... unexpected. Kon’s words finally cut through the haze of Tim’s thoughts, though there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I can take the couch, every growing hero needs their beauty sleep after all, and you still have a ways to go.” The tease was weak, the words thick with exhaustion, but the glint in his eyes told a different story.
Tim could practically hear the unspoken "I know what you're planning" even before Kon said it. Of course, the looming fever and the incoming sickness didn’t seem to do much to dull Kon’s sense of humor, much to Tim’s dismay. Even with his body betraying him, the guy still found a way to throw in a jab. Tim could only roll his eyes, a sigh escaping him as he began to mentally prepare for the real challenge ahead: getting a stubborn, feverish Kon into his bed without any more commentary.
He’ll leave him to think he’s won for now, letting off a small huff before moving toward the kitchen, he started filling a glass of water. He didn’t know if water would help a superhuman but he doubts it would do any harm. As he turned, a memory hit him like a ton of bricks. It was the time when he’d been sick, bedridden and miserable, and Kon, ever the problem-solver, had handed him a plastic bowl to “help him out.” The part he didn’t plan for? Leaving the bowl on his nightstand, still nearly half full, for Tim to deal with later. That hadn’t been a pleasant experience, thankfully Kon hadn’t left by that point and Tim made him clean it but the smell was enough for Tim to question the method. Officially, it was now labeled his sick bowl , it had become his go-to for all sorts of non-food-related tasks and now he suppose it can be Kon’s. The memory of that bowl however was even worse when Tim remembered who it had originally belonged to.. Alfred..
Him being the ever diligent caretaker that he is, had tried to reclaim it while tidying up his kitchen a week or two after, but Tim had scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, to keep it. Because if Damian or any of his siblings ever found out they had eaten out of a bowl he’d previously vomited in, no amount of industrial-grade sterilization would save him from being brutally murdered in his sleep.
As much as Tim hated to admit it, the idea wasn’t half bad. A bowl could save his carpet, bedding, or couch if Kon’s mystery illness decided his stomach contents were better off outside than in. The thought alone was enough to make Tim grimace. With a resigned sigh, he padded back to the living room, setting the glass of water on the coffee table before placing the now renowned sick bowl on the floor beside the couch. Kon blinked at it, brow furrowing in obvious confusion. His eyes flicked from the bowl to Tim, like he was trying to piece together some complex puzzle. Tim couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Yeah, now he was the one handing out sick bowls. Maybe they really were bad influences on each other.
“Just in case,” Tim answered before Kon could even get the question out.
For a second, something unreadable flickered across Kon’s face, concern? Fear? Maybe a little apprehension? But just as quickly, he huffed and curled in on himself, arms crossing like a petulant child. “I’m not going to throw up,” he grumbled, almost pouting.
Tim simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Sure,” he said, arms folded as he gave Kon a pointed look. He’d heard those words before right before someone inevitably did throw up. He wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’m not,” Kon insisted, his frown deepening in sheer stubbornness.
Tim paused, studying him, before a slow smile crept onto his face. “Last time I checked, I don’t think you can will yourself not to throw up,” he countered, voice light with amusement. on stared at him, expression unreadable, before turning his head away, his gaze locking onto the frayed edges of the blanket wrapped around him. His voice dropped to a mumble, like he was revealing some deep, earth-shattering secret. “I’ve never thrown up before.”
Tim let out a small laugh at the sheer seriousness of Kon’s expression. “Didn’t take you for the inexperienced type,” he teased, crossing his arms. “But hey, everyone’s gotta have a first time. No need to be embarrassed”Kon shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Just tired, feverish defiance.Tim gave Kon a small pat on the shoulder, half condescending, half maybe actually meant to be comforting.
“I’m gonna go Superboy-proof my room, and then your sorry ass is getting in there, okay?” he said, mostly to keep Kon in the loop. Not that it mattered. The dazed look in Kon’s eyes didn’t inspire much confidence that he’d even heard him. Still, after a beat, Kon let out a small hum of acknowledgement before finally losing the battle to stay lucid. His heavy eyes flickered shut, his body going slack against the couch.Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned toward his room. Great. Now he just had to make sure Kon wouldn’t destroy his couch in his fever-ridden state. Because if anyone could turn something as simple as sleeping into an accidental disaster, it was definitely Kon.
...
Tim had done his best. Fresh sheets, no more empty cans and mugs cluttering every available surface. Most of his scattered papers had been returned to their proper places, and miraculously he’d even put all his clothes away. Standing back, he took in the unusually tidy space, a strange sense of satisfaction settling over him. He wasn’t messy , not really, but his room always had a way of slipping into controlled chaos when he wasn’t paying attention. One minute, it was spotless; the next, it was drowning in case files, half-folded laundry, and whatever else he’d discarded without thinking.
The fact that he’d gone through all this effort for Kon was a little weird to process. Not that Kon wasn’t worth the effort, he was his best friend. Or… had been. And now? Now he was here, sick, vulnerable, and clearly struggling with something Tim didn’t have the full picture of. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to push. Not tonight. The least he could do was make sure Kon had a decent place to rest. Especially from him . With his room now somewhat clean, all that was left was getting Kon into it, letting his body fight off whatever chemical cocktail was currently wrecking his system, and then dealing with the aftermath. Simple enough. If Kon could settle quickly, Tim might even be able to squeeze in a patrol in a few hours.
Plan made.
He headed back to the living room, only to find Kon in the middle of a fitful sleep, shifting restlessly against the couch. His brows were furrowed, his breathing uneven, like he was caught somewhere between exhaustion and discomfort. Tim exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. Of course it couldn’t be easy.
“Alright, big guy,” he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Tim didn’t want to toot his own horn, but for his height and weight, he was objectively strong. Peak physical condition, highly trained, more than capable of handling himself in a fight. None of that seemed to matter the second he tried to lift Kon. Maybe it was the angle. Maybe it was the dead weight of a superhuman in a fevered sleep. Maybe it was just the universe laughing at him. Either way, after a brief but humiliating struggle, the best he could do was hoist Kon onto his back in a loose approximation of a piggyback. Tim grimaced as he adjusted his grip, already regretting this. He considered, for a fleeting second, tying Kon’s hands together to make things easier, but decided against it for Kon’s sake and also his own. The last thing he needed was for Kon to wake up mid-transport, sick and disoriented, only to find himself restrained. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Instead, he braced himself, trying to shift the weight so he wouldn’t immediately tip over. If he lost his balance, Kon wouldn’t be the one hitting the floor. Tim would. And that was not an outcome he was willing to deal with tonight. So, no dropping Kon.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, adjusting his stance. "Here goes nothing."
After what felt like a five-mile trek, a very slow, very shaky five-mile trek, Tim finally reached his room, muttering the entire way about what the hell Kon must be eating to make him this heavy. By the time he made it to the bed, his arms were burning, and his patience was running on fumes. So, with absolutely no grace or delicacy, he tossed Kon onto the mattress with as much care as someone disposing of a heavy duffel bag. In his defense, it was either that or risk keeling over under Kon’s weight. Kon, blissfully unaware of Tim’s suffering, barely stirred. The only reaction was a few soft, unintelligible mutterings, his fever keeping him deep in whatever half-lucid state he’d been drifting in. Tim let out a deep sigh, rolling his shoulders before moving to wrangle Kon into a position that didn’t scream starfish in distress . He pulled the blanket over him, adjusted his limbs so he didn’t wake up with a crick in his neck, and finally stepped back, hands on his hips, surveying his work.
"Well," he mumbled to himself, still catching his breath. "That was definitely a two-person job. So thankful for your assistance, Super-boy’” He added sarcastically, he really should’ve stretched before he attempted that.
Kon grumbled something that sounded like “Shut up, Rob,” but in his current fever-addled state, it was hard to tell. Tim rolled his eyes fondly, arms still crossed as he watched Kon settle deeper into the bed. He still looked like absolute shit, but if he could sleep through this, it would make things a hell of a lot easier. Still, the name gave him pause. Rob.
Kon hadn’t called him that in a long time.
Tim had always been Robin to the team, even now, when the title felt… off. A past life wrapped in red, green, and gold. His friends, Kon included, always made a small effort to call him Tim when he was out of costume, respecting the boundaries he’d ranted about more times than he could count. His civilian identity was his , and hearing Robin outside of the mask always put him on edge. But Rob , the lazy, half-teasing, familiar version of it, was different. It was something old and worn-in, something from late-night missions and team banter, from a time when things felt simpler, somehow, despite the mess they always seemed to get into. Sure, maybe Kon didn’t even realize he’d said it, but the sound of it, quiet and unguarded, settled in Tim’s chest in a way he wasn’t quite ready to unpack.
Instead, he just shook his head, exhaling softly. “Go to sleep, Kon,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Tim glanced around, debating whether he should leave anything else out for Kon. When he’d hauled him off the couch earlier, he’d noticed the water glass had been partially drained, proof that, even in his fevered haze, Kon had at least some survival instincts left. Taking that as a good sign, Tim grabbed the glass and refilled it before setting it back on the nightstand. His gaze flickered to the plastic bowl. With a sigh, he picked it up too, realizing with some horror that he was probably caring for Kon the same way one would for a sick dog. Hydration? Check. Somewhere safe to sleep? Check. A conveniently placed bowl in case of sudden, unfortunate bodily functions? Check. Alfred would disapprove.
Kon let out a quiet, congested-sounding sigh in his sleep, curling in on himself slightly. Tim huffed, shaking his head as he set the bowl down within easy reach. Just in case.
Tim figured he should probably leave a note. If Kon woke up alone in his bed, he’d definitely have questions, mainly how he got there and where the hell Tim had disappeared to. And while Tim could just let him figure it out, he’d rather avoid Kon staggering out into the apartment, fever-addled and confused, looking for answers. Not that he’d be gone long. Just a quick patrol, maybe a stop by the Cave if needed. If he looked hard enough, he could probably find something that would ease Conner’s pain, even if just a little bit. With that in mind, he grabbed a sticky note and a pen, scrawling out something short and to the point:
Went out for a bit. Water’s on the nightstand. Bowl’s still there if you end up needing it.
Don’t die…
Again.
He stared at it for a second, then added:
P.S. If you drool on my pillow, you owe me a new one.
Satisfied, he stuck it to the nightstand before grabbing his gear.
Tim barely had time to react before he was yanked backward with alarming strength, an ironclad grip locking around him like a vice. With all the sluggish determination of a fevered half-Kryptonian, Kon had somehow sensed Tim trying to leave and, in a move that defied both logic and physics, dragged him down onto the bed. Tim barely managed a startled yelp before he was effectively smothered , his face half-buried against Kon’s chest, limbs tangled awkwardly as he tried, and failed , to wriggle free.
"Kon," he gritted out, struggling against the near-bruising grip. "This is not how you ask someone to stay." Kon, utterly dead to the world, only mumbled something unintelligible and tightened his hold, as if ensuring Tim wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Tim let out a long, suffering sigh, going briefly limp as he evaluated his options. He could try to pry Kon’s arms off, but considering his fevered state still allowed him to manhandle Tim this easily , that was looking increasingly unlikely.
…He was so not making it to patrol anytime soon.
Tim really hoped no one would notice his absence. He didn’t think he could explain this situation away, at all , and god forbid someone actually come over to check on him. Though, realistically, that was unlikely. No one ever really checked in on him unless he’d been radio silent for too long, and even then, it wasn’t like he had a designated babysitter. Still. The thought of anyone, literally anyone , walking in on this was enough to make him redouble his escape efforts. Tim tried wiggling free again, but Kon’s anaconda-like grip showed no signs of relenting. His arms were locked tight, and Tim, who had fought actual assassins before and won, well mostly , was losing against the unconscious clinginess of one sick half-Kryptonian. His forehead was still pressed against Kon’s chest, the warmth of his fever burning through the fabric of his shirt. Great. Tim tilted his head up slightly, catching sight of Kon’s face still scrunched in discomfort, his expression pained even in sleep.
Something in Tim’s chest twisted.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was escape. With great effort, he wiggled one hand free and aggressively tapped at Kon’s face.
“Kon. Kon-El. Conner Kent. Let me go.”
Kon didn’t even flinch. If anything, his grip tightened around Tim, holding him in place with the unyielding strength of a superhuman. Tim let out a slow breath through his nose, staring up at the ceiling in resignation. There was no escaping this. In one final, desperate attempt to break free, Tim sank his teeth into the skin of Kon’s arm that was wrapped around him. It was a pathetic, futile effort, and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, Kon’s skin might as well have been steel. If he tried any harder, he would’ve cracked a tooth. Tim pulled back, grumbling under his breath, realizing that not even biting his way out of this situation was going to work.
Somewhat resigned to his fate, Tim let his head sink back against Kon’s shoulder, exhaling slowly. The situation was vaguely familiar,being pulled into a death grip by a sleep-ridden Kon. The last time it happened, he had been the sick one, and though the memory was fuzzy, he was pretty sure Kon had done this exact same thing then too. Tim wasn’t really the type to cuddle. Or at least, not the type to ask for it. His family had never been particularly touchy, and Tim had never needed it, not in the way some people did. Physical affection had always been something calculated, given or received when the moment called for it, but never sought out just because. Tim remembered being young, the nightly ritual of asking his mother for a hug before bed. It had been something simple, something small, but it made the ache of their absence feel a little less suffocating, the burning itch of loneliness under his skin a little less intense. Until one day she made a face so disgusted you’d think Tim had some sort of infectious disease, he never did ask again after that. The memory brought a small frown to Tim’s face.
That being said… having a superhuman act as an unmovable weighted blanket wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Kon’s slow, steady breathing, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his fever, it was all oddly grounding. More comforting than Tim would ever willingly admit. He’d never hear the end of it and he doesn’t think he’d be able to convince Bart to ever let him go if he found out.
Gaze still caught on Kon, his mind started to wonder, the growing warmth settling in his chest stirring around feelings he thought he’d left behind. Kon had always been different, for him at least.
Tim could see it more clearly now, how much he hadn’t realized exactly what Kon meant to him until he was gone . How much he really, actually liked him. Losing him had been a brutal lesson, one that had hit harder than Tim ever wanted to acknowledge, one he still wasn’t sure he’d fully processed. Tim liked to think he didn’t handle grief badly . Not well , necessarily, but he’d never met anyone who did. Still, when Kon and Bart had died, when Batman had gotten lost in the timestream, presumed dead . Tim had lost everything . He had lost Robin . And he could say, with full certainty, that he had handled none of it well. He hadn’t completely shattered, hadn’t completely burned out but he’d come dangerously close. He had been desperate . Desperate for any kind of control back. And in that desperation, he’d had the brilliant idea of trying to bring Kon back through cloning . It hadn’t been rational. It hadn’t even been close. But he hadn’t been in his right mind for a long time. He just wanted his friend back . Someone, anyone , to remind him he was still human . That things could be okay again. That not everything was lost. That Tim would fix it, could fix it.
It was for the best that it had failed because Kon had come back all on his own . Kon coming back to a clone of him probably wouldn’t have ended brilliantly. Then when Kon had finally come to find him, Tim had still been in a bad place. Hadn’t even processed that his best friend was alive. Had been too focused on his mission to even see him properly. After everything , he had been so sure that Kon would never speak to him again. Cassie would tell him everything , everything Tim had done, everything Tim had become and Kon would take one look at him and run for the hills . He wouldn’t have blamed him.
Not even for a second.
But he didn’t .
Kon, the morally superior , self-sacrificial asshole that he was, kept coming back . Things were different between them. That much was a given. But Kon still showed up . Still hung out with him like it was the old days , like Tim hadn’t spent months spiraling into something unrecognizable. Like he hadn’t tried to play God just to bring even a piece of him back. And now he was here sick, in Tim’s bed , wrapped around him like he never planned on letting go.
And Tim could feel himself start to crack .
Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them away , jaw clenching. He wasn’t going to cry , dammit. He’d held off this long . He wasn’t breaking now . Still… if his arms found their way around Kon’s back, if his grip tightened just slightly, then that wasn’t anyone’s business. And if Kon woke up with small damp patches where Tim’s face had been pressed against his shoulder?
Probably just sweat.
...
Tim awoke with a start , his breath hitching as reality came rushing back to him. He’d only meant to close his eyes for a moment , just a second to rest, to process the whirlwind of emotions clawing at his chest. But exhaustion had crept in, tangled with the weight of new revelations , the kind that only seemed to surface in the deepest, darkest parts of the night. The warmth pressed against him, too much , almost suffocating jolted his memory back into place.
Right. Kon.
Tim relaxed slightly before cracking his eyes open, blinking against the morning light filtering through the room. Kon was awake . And smirking . He looked far more lucid than when Tim had last seen him, eyes bright and clear, the fever-sweat sheen mostly gone. He was lazily scrolling on his phone, sprawled out in a way that somehow made it his bed now.
"Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty."
Tim barely managed to suppress a groan at the far too chipper tone. He let out a displeased grunt instead, rubbing at his face. " You couldn’t have woken me up when you finally let go of your death grip?" he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. Kon just grinned , stretching slightly before letting his head roll toward Tim.
"Nah. You looked comfy."
“ Thanks to a certain someone, it’s not like I had much choice.”
"Please, like you don’t love my cuddles," Kon teased, his voice laced with that usual mix of humor and affection. But the words hung in the air, and for a moment, an uncomfortable silence settled between them. Tim, still half-awake, clung to the warmth of his surprisingly restful slumber, blinking groggily as he tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Kon, on the other hand, was staring at him so intently, so focused, that Tim couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. He had that look in his eyes—the kind that made Tim worry red might start pooling in his eyes, like he was seeing through him, digging into places Tim wasn’t quite ready to let anyone see.
"You okay?" Kon asked lightly, his voice almost casual, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear he was looking for more than just a passing response. Tim blinked, confusion clouding his mind as sleep still clung to him like a fog. " What?" he mumbled, still trying to wake up.
Kon’s gaze didn’t waver, his tone shifting just slightly. "You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?"
Tim froze, his breath catching in his throat. He could control his heart rate, sure, but it wasn’t always constant. And now that Kon had pointed it out, he could feel it thundering in his chest, faster than usual. The rush of warmth and adrenaline hit him all at once. He had fallen asleep last night with nothing but thoughts of how much he’d missed his best friend, the quiet ache of it settling in his bones. And now, waking up beside Kon, still bleary-eyed with sleep, it was a shock to his already overworked system. His heart wasn’t just racing, it was like it was trying to catch up with everything he hadn’t been ready to face. Kon, still watching him with that sharp gaze, was the last thing Tim expected to feel this way about, but the closeness… It was overwhelming in a way he didn’t know how to handle.
" Kon ." Tim's voice was small, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the silence between them. He swallowed, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. " I... I’m sorry."
The words slipped out of Tim’s mouth before he had time to truly process them, before he could understand what this conversation would really mean, or where it might lead. He hadn’t considered the weight they carried, the potential shift in everything between them. His heart raced again, not from nervousness, but from the overwhelming realization that what he’d just said might change everything. His head hung slightly, eyes avoiding Kon’s intense blue gaze, unable to meet it. The silence in the room seemed to stretch on, heavier now, filled with the weight of things left unsaid. Tim could feel the shift, like the space between them had suddenly become too small, too intimate, and the fear of what might come next was almost suffocating.
" Tim ?" Kon's voice softened, breaking through the thick silence. "What are you sorry for? I swear to god if you taped over my shows again—"
The attempt at humor, as awkward as it was, sliced through the tension just enough to give Tim a brief reprieve. A small chuckle slipped past Tim’s lips, but it was strained, still haunted by the tight knot in his chest. The humor didn’t exactly calm his racing heart, though. It helped, but the undercurrent of everything unsaid still lingered, heavier than before. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck, too much on his mind, too many things unspoken, and none of it feeling like the right thing to say.
“For everything, I guess,” Tim finally said, his voice low, the weight of his confession pressing down on him.
“For Paris, for never reaching out, for being a different person then from when you left? There’s a decently long list.”
His eyes flickered toward Kon, but quickly dropped again, unable to hold the gaze. The truth of it all felt raw, like pulling back layers of something deep and painful he’d tried to bury. But now, in this moment, it seemed impossible to avoid. He couldn’t ignore the ways he’d changed, the ways they’d both changed, and how hard it had been to let go of the version of himself that still wanted to be the person that Kon had known before. Tim could admit it, he was bad at this. He'd grown up with absent rich parents and then found himself taken in by a grieving Batman, whose emotional intelligence wasn’t exactly award-winning either. It made sense, in a twisted way, that Tim didn’t always know how to navigate this kind of thing. His life had been filled with missions, gadgets, and strategy, but feelings ? That had always been a different story. A story he never intended to change.
Apologizing was a foreign language to him, one he’d never quite mastered. And now, standing here, trying to make sense of everything, it felt like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. But Tim knew he couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t there. He couldn’t keep hanging out with Kon, pretending everything was fine, until it was over with. It was overdue. And as much as it scared him, it had to be said. Kon was still looking at him, his eyes unwavering, and Tim could feel every second stretch between them like a taut wire. A small frown started to tug at Kon’s lips, and it made something in Tim’s chest tighten, like the weight of his own thoughts were being reflected back at him. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to smooth out the crease in Kon’s brow, as if somehow doing that would make things better, make everything easier . But before he could stop himself, the thought disappeared, Kon spoke, cutting through the tension.
" Tim ."
Kon let out a soft sigh, and for some reason, that sound hit harder than anything else. Tim’s heart stuttered, and he knew, in that moment, that this would be the one that haunted him. The one moment he’d replay over and over, wondering what could’ve been said differently, what could’ve been fixed. The silence that followed felt like it stretched to infinity.
" When I came back, everyone was different, everything was different. It still is , " Kon said, his voice quiet now, the weight of the words settling in the room. The last part was softer, tinged with something that sounded like sorrow, like an ache he couldn’t shake. "No one treats me the same, and I think if Ma looks at me with that same sad expression again, I might accidentally stare a hole through the wall."
Tim could feel the depth of the unspoken pain behind those words. It was raw, vulnerable, and it struck a chord deep inside him. He couldn’t help but lean forward, listening intently.
"I don’t know what happened to you whilst I was gone," Kon continued, his tone shifting, quieter now, as if choosing each word carefully. "But I don’t blame you for Paris. Not entirely at least. If it had actually worked, then maybe it would be a different story." Tim wasn’t sure how to respond, his mind racing, but Kon’s words left him frozen in place, suddenly unsure of what to say. The confession, the openness, it was more than Tim had expected.
“ I don’t believe you. ” It had left Tim’s mouth before his brain managed to catch up. Kon sighed again before shaking his head. After another time stopping pause Kon spoke.
“It was weird at first.” Kon admitted, his gaze finally breaking from Tim’s. "But I like you too much to hold it against you for too long," Kon added, a small, almost bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You know you could convince me of anything. If anyone could convince the clone to have a clone, it would be you Tim.”
Tim stared at him, processing the weight of what he’d just said, the layers of meaning underneath. For the first time in a while, it felt like things were shifting in a way he hadn’t expected, like there was something they both needed to figure out, but in a way that was almost comforting. Kon’s lips twitched into a smirk, his usual teasing side creeping back into his voice. “Plus, I always knew you were weird. Should’ve really seen it coming.” He let out a small laugh, but there was a softness to it, an understanding that hadn’t been there before. Tim could feel the weight of his words sink in, though, and the smirk faded into something quieter, something more vulnerable. Kon’s gaze softened as he added, “ I guess I just didn’t realize how much I meant to you.”
"Kon, I missed you."
The words hit Kon like a wave crashing into rocks. He froze, momentarily stuttering, unsure how to process what Tim had just said. Whatever train of thought he'd been trying to piece together came to a sudden halt. His eyes locked onto Tim's, the intensity of the moment hanging thick between them. The ocean met the sky, neither willing to look away. But then, just as quickly, Kon’s gaze faltered, lowering down his face. Tim didn’t have time to process the shift before Kon’s hand shot out, pulling him forward with surprising force.
Tim stumbled, caught off guard, but before he could even make sense of it, Kon's lips were on his.
Kon is kissing him.
Actually kissing him. Tim’s mind seems to short-circuit as he feels the warmth of Kon’s lips against his. His breath catches, the air thick between them as Kon’s nose slots against his, the subtle tang of sleep still lingering on him. It’s soft, urgent, and yet somehow unspoken all at once. An electric current runs through Tim’s body, like a spark igniting in the pit of his stomach. The world shifts, slows down, and suddenly everything that came before this moment feels distant, irrelevant. His pulse is racing in his ears, but there’s a deep, resonating calm in the way Kon’s lips move against his, like it’s exactly what was meant to happen, even if they hadn’t known it until now. Tim’s hands instinctively grip onto Kon, not wanting to pull away, not wanting this feeling to end. It’s everything he’s been missing, and suddenly, he can’t remember what it felt like to be without it. He doesn’t even know how he was living before but suddenly it can’t compare. They pull away, and Kon’s expression is a mix of sheepishness and amusement, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself after what just happened. Tim, on the other hand, feels like he’s blinking out of time, his brain still trying to catch up with what his body has just experienced.
People kissing him always seems to catch him off guard. Maybe it’s because he has a kissable face, though he’s never been entirely sure about that theory, or maybe people just like shutting him up the only way they know how. Either way, it’s happened enough times that Tim really should be more used to it by now. But this? This felt different. This was Kon. The guy he’s spent so much time with, and somehow, it still didn’t make sense. His breath is still uneven, and his heart is pounding a little too hard, like it hasn’t quite caught up with his mind. Kon’s grin only makes it worse, somehow, and Tim can’t decide if he’s embarrassed or relieved, or maybe a little bit of both.
“ Tim ?”
“ Earth to Tim?”
Kon’s voice cuts through the fog in Tim’s head, and for a split second, he feels like he’s drowning in the chaos of it all. He blinks, but the words don’t quite seem to land, his mind still racing, still tangled up in the feeling of Kon’s lips on his. But the distance between them is wrong , and Tim doesn’t want to be that far from him. His limbs finally catch up to his mind, and within five seconds, he’s grabbing Kon’s slightly stubbled face, pulling him back in without hesitation. The familiar warmth floods over him again, Kon’s breath, the heat of him and Tim feels like he’s breathing for the first time, like everything before this had been held in a moment too long. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? Tim’s hand reaches around, fingers threading into Kon’s sleep-muddled hair, feeling the softness, the slight difference in lengths, the shorter hair on the back of his head smoothed down from sleep. It’s grounding, pulling him closer, like the kiss itself is some kind of tether between them. Kon’s hands find his waist, firm and sure, pulling him in, the pressure of it making Tim feel like he’s melting against him, losing himself in the feeling.
The kiss deepens, slow and heated, like they’re both trying to find something that’s been missing, something they hadn’t realized was there until now. Everything around them seems to fade, the world narrowing down to this single, overwhelming moment. Tim can’t think. He doesn’t want to. All he knows is that he’s here, with Kon, and everything else, every fear, every uncertainty falls away, leaving only the softness of his lips and the electric warmth of his touch. They finally pull away, both of them breathing heavily, the air thick with everything unsaid. Kon’s lips are reddened from the contact, his pupils blown out, looking like he’s been caught in the same whirlwind that just spun Tim’s entire world on its axis. And that sly smile on his face, the one that somehow makes everything feel both lighter and heavier all at once, only adds to the fire.
“Do you believe me now?” Kon asks, the words a challenge and an invitation, all wrapped up in that playful tone, but there’s an edge to it, something deeper that Tim can’t quite place. Tim doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stares at Kon, his heart still racing, his mind a mess of feelings he’s not quite sure how to untangle. He could feel the weight of it, the significance of the moment, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to say it out loud just yet. The tension between them is palpable, but it's different now. It’s changed.
A small hum is all Tim can really give, his mind still reeling, trying to process the rush of everything that’s just happened. He’s still gripping Kon’s hair, the feeling of his fingers threading through the soft hair like an anchor, as if trying to make sure this moment isn’t just a dream. But then he realizes where he is, and his heart skips a beat, he’s straddling Kon, his knees pressed against the other’s sides, something he hadn’t even realized until now. The sudden awareness makes Tim freeze for a second, his face flushing deep red, the heat spreading from his cheeks all the way down his neck. His ears burn with embarrassment as he quickly shifts, but in doing so, he can’t help but feel the strange, electrifying closeness. Being this close to Kon, his heart thundering in his chest, his breath still uneven, everything feels too real now, and for a split second, Tim has no idea what to do with himself. Kon lets out a small, almost inaudible cough of a laugh, clearly trying to hide the amusement creeping into his expression. He shifts slightly, but Tim’s hands are still firmly on his face, effectively barricading him in. Kon’s gaze flickers up to meet Tim’s for a moment before he looks away again, his face flushing slightly.
“ Well, was it good for you?” Kon jokes, raising his eyebrows in that teasing way that makes Tim’s stomach flip, like he's daring him to do something about it. The smirk on Kon’s face is enough to make Tim want to slap him, but it also leaves him breathless in the best possible way. Before Tim can even respond, Kon leans up, closing the gap between them once more, and their lips meet again. This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, like they’ve both found a rhythm that makes sense. Tim’s brain, still trying to catch up, feels the lag fading with each kiss. His heart races again, but it's not panic or uncertainty anymore. It’s something deeper, something that feels like it’s been building for a while, even if neither of them fully realized it until now. With each swipe of Kon’s tongue, Tim’s world narrows, the noise in his head quieting, replaced by the warmth of Kon’s touch, the way he feels against him. The electric current of it is undeniable, and Tim doesn’t think he could pull away if he tried. Every second, every brush of their lips, erases the confusion, the hesitation. He’s finally in sync with the moment, with Kon.
“Your breath stinks,” Tim mutters, trying to sound casual, but to his own ears his voice sounds weak. He can’t help it, his brain is still processing, and it’s the first thing he could think of to break the growing intensity. Kon lets out a hearty chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest, and Tim can feel it in his own rib cage, like it’s somehow warming his soul. It’s a sound Tim didn’t realize he needed to hear, comforting and real, pulling him back from the whirlwind that had just swept them both up.
“ Yeah ?” Kon grins, pulling away just enough to give Tim a mischievous look. “Maybe you should kiss me again to make sure.”
Tim rolls his eyes, but the smile creeping onto his face betrays him. The laughter, the warmth, the teasing. It feels right. And for the first time in a long while, Tim isn’t worried about what comes next. He’s just here, right now, with Kon. "Go brush your teeth first . ”
“Tim Drake-Wayne, you sure know how to charm a guy,” Kon teases, his voice full of playful admiration . “How you haven’t been scooped up already is beyond me.”
Tim does end up slapping him this time, though it’s more playful than anything else, just a quick tap against Kon’s shoulder, a mock reprimand for his teasing. But as soon as he does it, he carefully removes himself from Kon’s lap, his movements slightly stiff as he tries to recalibrate. He stands up and straightens himself out, smoothing down the wrinkles on his shirt with a focus that borders on obsessive, as if trying to make everything seem normal again. Like his world hadn’t just been flipped upside down. His jeans have ridden up uncomfortably, and he hadn’t even bothered to take his belt off. A hand runs through his sleep-rumpled hair, pushing the messy strands back in an attempt to look slightly more put together than he feels in the moment. But even as he’s adjusting himself, Tim can’t help but notice how disjointed the whole situation is, how effortlessly it’s shifted from something awkward to something... undeniably right. His pulse is still racing, and there’s a small part of him that’s not sure how to fully process what just happened, but another part of him doesn’t really care. Not when he’s still standing there, with Kon, the space between them is not quite as awkward as it used to be.
Kon, on the other side of the room, is in sweats and a slightly tight t-shirt, looking like he just rolled out of bed. He shakes the sleep off himself with a lazy stretch, his hair falling over his eyes in that way Tim’s only seen a few times, messy, untamed, but somehow endearing. It’s a side of Kon that’s raw and unpolished, and Tim can’t help but notice how much he likes it. Kon doesn’t seem bothered by the change in atmosphere, though. He just brushes it off, casually making his way toward the kitchen. Tim watches him for a second, taking in the casual movement, the way Kon just exists in this space. The awkwardness between them has faded, at least for now, and the shift is almost comfortable in a strange way. He doesn’t know what’s next, but at this moment, he’s content.
Kon glances over his shoulder, his usual grin spreading across his face as he leans against the counter. "So? Breakfast?" he asks, raising an eyebrow playfully.
Tim follows him out, an easy smile growing on his face. Yeah, he can work.