Chapter Text
Jonathan Crane was well aware that Jervis did not feel things in quite the same way that most people did. The hypnotist swung sharply from emotion to emotion, all experienced and expressed with a degree of intensity that would exhaust any normal person. Sometimes it seemed as if the very air around him would shift, as if his moods were too large to actually be contained within his body.
It was fascinating to watch, if occasionally frightening.
Jervis never got annoyed, or even just angry – no, he got enraged. And when he did, he seemed like a force of nature, like a thunderstorm. The air around him felt warm and electric, like anyone in his vicinity might potentially just spontaneously combust.
Jervis didn't get melancholic, or even just sad; no, he'd become completely wretched, a despondent and inconsolable mess. The air would feel heavy, then, like anyone around him might get crushed by it.
But whether the air felt like it might burn him, or choke him, or crush him, Jonathan would stick by Jervis. Even on the days when Jervis thought that the world wasn't real and that he'd somehow float away, Jonathan still stuck by his side.
And today, today was one of those days when the air felt too thin, like they both might choke; today was one of the days when Jervis was absolutely overjoyed. He could never just be glad, or even happy, he could only be overjoyed.
His smile was wide and bright, as he squeezed Jonathan tightly to him, spinning them around in a circle.
"Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan," the hypnotist sing-songed, over and over, like he couldn't get enough of saying it. "Jonathan, my dear, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so, so much!"
Jervis peppered Jonathan's face with kisses; he held him so tightly that it hurt a bit, but Jonathan didn't mind, not really.
Truthfully, he liked how desperately Jervis clung to him. It made the thought that something might pull them apart seem absurd, improbable; like they were simply woven too tightly together for anyone to possibly make a clean cut between them. It felt like a part of Jervis might seep beneath Jonathan's skin and stay there, like the Scarecrow had. Jonathan thought that sounded nice, comforting.
Because honestly, Jonathan was as terrified of losing Jervis as Jervis was of losing him. He had nightmares about that, sometimes – about Jervis being shot like his father, or burning to death like his mother, as Jonathan looked on, paralyzed and helpless to stop it.
That's why he let Jervis squeeze him so tightly that it might very well bruise. The bruises meant that Jonathan would have something that was Jervis' – something Jervis had given him – beneath his skin. He closed his eyes and listened to Jervis sing his name, over and over.
"Jonathan, Jonathan, my Jonathan!~"
Yes, Jonathan thought. Yes, yes, yes.
Yours, yours, yours.