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The next day comes, and with it, the rain.
It’s the start of a storm.
Last night, Dick had felt the building pressure in his joints and tasted the ozone in the air, hours before the clinging clouds in the sky knit themselves into a dark blanket and swelled and swelled and swelled until they burst.
Today, he opens his eyes to the sight of raindrops rattling against the window, and through a crack in the curtains he watches them streak down the gently fogged glass. There’s the low whistle of wind sweeping against the building, and the muffled clatter of dishes and pans from farther down the hall. The room is dark, and beyond the half-closed bedroom door, the hall is also draped in gloomy shadows.
He can’t quite remember where he is or how he got here - there’s a muddled quality to his memories that makes it hard to parse through them, and a slowness to his thoughts that speaks of pain medicine. Beyond the first initial spike of alarm, though, he doesn’t feel the need to heave himself out of bed and aggravate his injuries. There is, after all, a familiar leather jacket hanging on the back of the door, and, on the nightstand, a stack of paperbacks next to a pair of reading glasses that recasts the room in a safe, familiar light.
Jason came back, then.
Dick tugs the blanket up his chest, and lets his eyes rove around the room aimlessly, half-listening to the occasional clink of a utensil colliding with a dish or pan. He’s not sure how he feels - there’s happiness, of course, but it’s the complicated sort of happiness that’s knotted itself together with heartache, so tight that Dick couldn’t untangle them if he tried.
And he is trying.
He didn’t want it to be complicated, if Jason came back. He wanted the relief, the joy - not the ugly dejection and hurt. You prepared for this, Dick thinks, staring hard out the window as lightning flashes by and briefly illuminates the sky.
It’s expected, yes - but the expectation of pain does nothing to dull the reality of it.
The rumble of thunder in the sky coincides with the sound of the door creaking open. Dick flicks his eyes over, and can’t resist smiling at the sight of Jason backing into the room, frowning in concentration as he balances the overfilled tray of food in his hands and tries not to tip anything over.
“I think that’s too much food,” Dick says.
Jason scoffs as he sets the tray down carefully on the bed. “You say that now,” he says, settling himself on the edge of the bed and reaching over to flick on a lamp.
“No, really,” Dick says, slowly levering himself up. “I—hold on, did you make all of this?”
“You were asleep for a while,” Jason says, like that’s any sort of excuse.
“Still,” Dick says, reaching out to snag a plate of pancakes. “Thanks, Jay.”
He shouldn’t, but he still finds pleasure in the way Jason’s face colors slightly. “Yeah,” Jason says. “Well, it’s not all for you, so don’t go hogging everything.” Having said that, Jason reaches over with a fork, and snags a pancake off the top of the stack.
“Thief,” Dick says.
“Leech,” Jason returns.
Dick cackles. “Pass me the butter,” he says.
“Grab it yourself,” Jason says, but he passes it anyway.
Alright, Dick thinks, as he carefully butters the pancakes. So this wasn’t too bad - better than bearable, even, which was the most he had hoped for. He could live with this - could find happiness in this. The hurt would fade fully in time, and then things could go back to the way they used to be. That should make Dick happy - and he is - but right now, the thought almost makes him want to cry.
“Thanks again for breakfast,” Dick says, brightly.
“Mmhm,” Jason says, through a disgusting mouthful of parfait and pancake. “Eat.”
Dick digs in.
Several times over the course of the meal, Dick catches Jason looking at him out of the corner of his eye, mouth twisted, indecisive. A few times, he looks like he might say something - inhaling slightly, his mouth opening - but then he stops, and looks down at his plate again, poking at his food with a scowl.
Don’t, Dick thinks at him - though as far as he is aware, Jason isn’t and hasn’t ever been a telepath, so it’s mostly an exercise in futility - don’t bring it up, don’t talk about it. We’re good, aren’t we? Isn’t this good? Isn’t this what you wanted?
They finish eating, and Jason takes the tray back to the kitchen. When he reappears, he hovers in the doorway for a moment, until Dick hesitantly pats at a spot next to him on the bed. Then Jason climbs on, carefully, and sits up against the headboard. Together, they listen to the rain beat against the building, and the thunder roll in the sky.
Lightning flashes, again, and when it fades Jason says, quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” Dick says. When he looks over, Jason’s already watching him. “Jason,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about this.”
Jason is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Do you not want to?”
Dick would like to say yes. What comes out instead is a miserable sounding, “I don’t know.” Then, embarrassed at his misery, he snaps, “Don’t ask me questions.”
“Okay,” Jason says. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Dick says, and he doesn’t know why he sounds like this - he doesn’t know where this anger is coming from.
“I don’t know,” Jason says. “I think I have some things to apologize for.”
“I don’t care,” Dick says. “Just stop.” Quiet, for the space of a breath, and then it comes tumbling out, “I don’t understand,” he says. “I don’t get it. You ran away for weeks. You made it clear you didn’t want to talk, you didn’t want to be around me, you didn’t want me to be able to find you. And then you come back, and you patch me up, and I think, okay, maybe he just wants things to go back to the way they were. And then you come in with breakfast and say you’re sorry. I don’t know what you want.”
Jason winces. “I know,” he says. “I know I messed up. I wasn’t thinking. I just—I had to figure some things out.”
“And did you?”
“Yes,” Jason says. And then he hesitates, staring down at his hands, shoulders curling in, hunching up against his ears. “You know,” he says, a funny twist to his mouth. “It’s embarrassing, but I used to—used to fantasize about something like this, when I was younger.” A flicker of his eyes, towards Dick, then away. “About you.”
There’s something sinking in Dick’s chest.
“I had the stupidest crush on you as a kid. I thought you were the most amazing thing I had ever seen. When I met you—” Jason huffs, amused. “—I don’t know. You couldn’t do any wrong. You were perfect.”
“I don’t want you to tell me about this,” he says, suddenly. Jason looks startled.
“About—”
“I don’t need you to tell me about this,” he continues, bulldozing over Jason’s puzzlement. “I know where it goes.”
“...You do?”
“You say you fantasized about this,” Dick says. “This situation. Being soulmates.”
Jason nods. He’s squinting at Dick, a little unsurely.
“The thing is,” Dick says. “Fantasies are only desirable as long as you don’t have them. Once it becomes reality, the desire dies, and the object of the fantasy loses its value.”
There’s an indecipherable look on Jason’s face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Dick says, feeling very tired. “That I understand that you don’t want me anymore, and I’d like to go home.”
When he tries to slide out of bed, certain the talk is over and done with, and more than eager to get out of there, injuries be damned, Jason’s hand shoots out and grasps hold of his wrist.
“Hold on,” Jason says. “I’m not done talking.”
“What more is there to say?” Dick says. “I get it. You don’t need to apologize, or do—whatever it is you’re doing. I get it.”
“You don’t get anything,” Jason says. “Stay. Please.”
His grip on Dick’s wrist is tight, but if Dick really wanted, he could break it.
He doesn’t. He stays.
“Thank you,” Jason says. He doesn’t let go.
“Just—talk, then. You wanted to talk.”
Jason swallows. The hand around Dick’s wrist feels clammy. “Fine,” he says. “Alright. So let’s say you’re right. The fantasy becomes reality. The fantasy dies. What does that leave?”
“The object,” Dick says. Jason stares at him, and Dick takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. “Me,” he forces out. “It leaves me.”
Jason won’t let him look away. He nudges his chin up, frames Dick’s face with his hands, waits until Dick opens his eyes to speak.
“You,” Jason says, firmly.
“What’s your point,” Dick says. He wants Jason to say it. He doesn’t want Jason to speak at all.
“Maybe you would’ve been right,” Jason says. “If I was still some stupid fifteen year old—”
“You weren’t stupid,” Dick says.
“Not the point,” Jason says, exasperated. “The thing I was getting to, is that I didn’t know you then. All I had were stupid fantasies, and an embarrassing crush. But those don’t matter to me anymore. I grew out of them. I’m not interested in you because I used to fantasize about you when I was a kid, and now’s my chance to finally put that dream to rest. I don’t need that to want you. I know you, Dick. You.”
Dick’s mouth feels dry. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Jason laughs. “I ran away for weeks so I could figure out what I was thinking. I think I know what I’m saying, Dickie.”
“You won’t want me,” Dick says. It’s all he can think to say. “You won’t want me once you have me.”
“Dick,” Jason says. “If I loved you like that, I would be able to lie to you.”
Dick flinches. Jason holds him steady through it, until he can breathe again. “Maybe you can,” Dick chokes out. He meant it to sound challenging, but it comes out distinctly watery.
“Then ask me something,” Jason says, instead of telling Dick he’s being ridiculous. “Anything. To check.”
Dick thinks. Then, quietly, “Why did you leave?”
Jason’s thumb drags over Dick’s right cheekbone. Back and forth, back and forth. “Because I was scared,” Jason says, just as quietly. “Because I know I’m going to do something to fuck this up. Because I thought it’d hurt less to leave you than to have you leave me. Because you deserve someone better than me.”
Deep breath, shaky exhale. “Why’d you come back?”
Jason keeps stroking over Dick’s cheek. “Because I’m going to fuck this up,” he says. “But I’d rather have you for as long as you’ll have me then not at all.”
“You’re so sure you’re going to fuck up,” Dick murmurs. His hands have somehow migrated upwards to rest gently over Jason’s. “Why?”
Jason looks like he doesn’t want to answer. He does, anyway. “I’m a failure,” he says. “I’ve never—I’ve never done anything right in my life. You know what. You know what I am.” A jerky smile. “Of course I’m going to fuck this up.”
“You really think that?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
Dick draws him closer to press their foreheads together. “Jason,” he says. “I can’t lie to you. I’m incapable of it.” He pauses, takes a breath, searches Jason’s eyes. That fascinating mix of green and blue. “So you know,” Dick says. “You have to know, that when I say this, it’s the absolute truth.” A deep breath, then, “You have never been a failure.”
This close, Dick can see the way the corners of Jason’s eyes go tight and redden, can feel the way his cheeks heat up under Dick’s palms.
Instead of saying anything, Jason leans forward and slots their mouths together. It’s chaste, and sweet, and it makes something deep in Dick’s chest ache with the joy of having Jason in his hands, in his arms, Jason slotted against him, Jason warm with life where he’s pressed carefully against Dick’s front.
Breathless seconds later, Jason pulls away, only far enough to begin to scatter kisses across Dick’s face. He’s saying something under his breath with each one, but it’s too low, too breathless for Dick to decipher. Jason’s kisses trail down his neck, where he stalls - presses one, two, three more kisses to where his neck curves into his shoulder - and then tucks his face in, curling himself around Dick in a warm, welcome embrace.
Dick pets his hair, and lets Jason tremble against him. His neck grows wet, and the way Jason’s hands curl into the back of his shirt almost hurts, but he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t dare to draw attention to it.
Eventually, minutes or hours later, Jason’s trembling begins to subside. Dick runs a hand one last time through his hair, then says, lightly, “You know, there’s this new Thai place I’ve been meaning to try.”
Jason huffs a laugh against his neck. “You can’t be thinking about lunch already,” he says.
“Well,” Dick says. “Not lunch. But if you wanted to go there with me later this week…”
Jason’s head pops up. He’s squinting at Dick unsurely, again. “Like a date?”
“Depends,” Dick says, unable to help his smile. “Are you free to go?”
“I can clear my schedule,” Jason says, without blinking.
“Oh,” Dick says. He knows he’s smiling some horribly goofy looking smile. “In that case, yes.”
“So we’re doing this?” Jason asks.
Dick reaches for his hand, intertwines their fingers. “I want to try,” he says. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jason says, simply, and leans in to kiss him again.
Outside, the wind howls against the building, and the rain continues to beat its drums against the asphalt. Inside, the apartment is quiet, and Jason’s lips are distracting, and his hands are warm and careful—
—and Dick knows, with a certainty that aches in his chest, that he loves and is loved in return.
Nothing else seems to matter.