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Hal hovered at the door of the Watchtower’s small library - entirely furnished by Bruce, of course. He had hesitated before going after the Bat but Clark’s broken voice had been all the inducement he needed. That and the hollow feeling in his chest.
The three of them had been working on an alien drug trafficking ring in Gotham in the Watchtower when Bruce had had a coughing fit.
Flowers and blood. No need to be a genius to figure out what was going on here. Hanahaki Disease was so rare that Hal had thought it was a myth, or something from the past, but he had never imagined he would ever meet someone suffering from it, even less so love them.
When he had caught sight of the flowers and processed what must be happening, Hal had gone closer to Bruce, either to comfort or confront, he wasn’t certain of it. It had been an impulsive reaction. Bruce had pushed him away roughly, ignored his and Clark’s calls and locked himself in his room.
It surprised Hal that he didn’t go back to Wayne Manor instead before remembering the kids. Of course Bruce didn’t want the bats to see him like that.
Hal had wondered if he should warn Dick anyway but decided against it when he realized that it might end up to be the thing that made Batman change his mind about murder.
Surprisingly, Bruce had sought Clark out in the evening, a large folder in his arms, asking for Hal to leave the meeting room the two of them were working in. Well, working in. More like worrying about their friend in. Hal had just shrugged and given them the intimacy Bruce required.
Bruce had left the meeting room after some time, but not Clark, and Hal had decided to join him. Bad decision.
Bruce had left big manila envelopes with the founding members’ aliases written on them in a black neat script on the table.
Clark had put his head into his hands.
“Go talk to him, please,” he had said, and he had looked more tired than Hal had ever seen him before.
Almost old. Hal didn’t think Superman could look old. It terrified him at least as much as the envelopes. One of them had his function on it. He itched to grab it and tear it apart.
He didn’t, though. Maybe he’d want to see Bruce’s words after - After.
He had practically ran away from Clark’s grief. He had looked for Bruce in several rooms before he thought of the library. Bruce spent quite some time there, with rare books on alien treatises and the likes.
He had sat on the windowsill and looked half asleep. Maybe Hal should let him sleep. Bruce coughed, no longer asleep, and looked at the door.
Hal entered the room while Bruce pocketed the flowers and cleaned his hands with a tissue. The Lantern felt his heart constrict. He knelt before taking the tissue from Bruce gently and dabbed at his bloodied lips.
Bruce let him, and wasn’t it more telling than anything ? Hal caught sight of the book on his lap. It was a medical textbook. Hal sighed.
He could have stood up but sat at Bruce’s feet instead.
He could feel Bruce’s piercing gaze on him, waiting for Hal to say something, anything, as Hal himself looked straight at the library door.
“There’s this book. A French book. It’s called L’Ecume des Jours. It was translated as “Froth on the Daydream”, “Foam of the Days” and even “Mood Indigo”, but it means “The Froth of Days”. A beautiful title, isn’t it ? Well, it’s a beautiful book. ”
There was a slight pause, intended for Bruce’s potential commentary, but at his lack of reaction, Hal chose to go on.
“There’s this character, Colin. He falls in love with that girl, Chloé. And then she falls ill. Chest pain and coughing. She has a water lily in her lung. And - fuck.”
Hal closed his eyes. He had tried to withdraw from his feelings to not feel the fear and the pain. He had tried to distance himself from Clark’s grief and from his own. Now, all the feelings were coming back, assaulting his senses. He had trouble breathing.
“She dies. I know," a sharp but familiar voice intervened, above him.
Hal looked up and fought the need to look away from Bruce’s beautiful face.
“Yes, that. And I - I don’t want to be Colin in our story,” he managed to say before averting his eyes.
“The thing is, in this story, that Colin actually loves her,” Bruce snapped at him. “It doesn’t save her, though,” he said more calmly.
Hal met his gaze once more, and for once, he let the walls fall. He offered his bare face to Bruce, letting him read the fear, and the pain, and the concern, and the love in the wrinkles of his face, in the tightness of his jaw, in his wet eyes and his sad lips.
“It doesn’t, right ?” he said softly, looking at his feet.
Bruce’s hand found his face hesitantly. Hal leaned in the large trembling pain, his eyes shut tight. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
“In our story, maybe it does,” the dark-haired man murmured, wiping the tear away, and Hal’s eyes snapped open.
“What do you mean ?” the Lantern asked cautiously.
He was afraid he was misunderstanding Bruce’s words.
“I mean, Clark will have to wait to deliver all those envelopes. Don’t act surprised, I saw you going in the meeting room after me.”
Hal smiled one of his sweetest smiles, one of utter happiness. Bruce's breath was taken away, until Hal opened his mouth.
“Wait, is the Big Bad Bat in love with me ?”
Bruce glared at him, without putting much heart into it.
“A bit less each passing second, Lantern," he said, joining Hal on the floor to be at his level.
It was less comfortable than his previous position but the windowsill wouldn’t have been large enough for the both of them.
Hal was kissing him before Bruce could make another move. Soft, pliant lips were chasing after each other, hands running along spines and ribs.
“Let’s tell Clark you’re not dying anymore,” Hal whispered when they were able to breathe again.
Bruce took his hand and helped him up. Hal refused to let go of his teammate’s hand until a long time later.
On the windowsill, the medical textbook had been abandoned, amid a few petals having escaped from Bruce’s pockets.
It was a long time before Hal had to open a manila envelope from Bruce destined to him. This one had updated contents and his real name on it.