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The world seemed to close in on him. The world was suffocating. Air seemed to not come naturally anymore, his breathing no longer on autopilot and instead manual and erratic. Was this what he would tell his patients counted as a panick attack? Probably, if he could bring himself to recite the exact definition and symptoms of a more severe one. But he couldn't think and he was too lightheaded to focus on it.
Darkness surrounded him, bats covered the skies yet strangely enough, Jon wasn't too bothered by that. Usually he would be with his past fear of crows that transitioned into a fear of bats. But he was too busy with his brain honing in on the panicked idea of "where the fuck did Edward go". All he could find of the man was his bowler hat.
The man never left that behind. In all of his green glory, most would argue his bowler hat was the most recognizable part of his villainous outfit. Especially Edward, he'd refuse to leave the house without it if he planned to do some "evil" thing. So surely the man was dead or so his brain convinced him after a restless night.
Jonathan hasn't had even a mild panic attack in months. He's been okay, suspiciously okay in fact. It was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose in all honesty. He just wished it wasn't over something so stupid, he could feel his dignity crying out from the back of his mind and his rational self was desperately trying to smack him out of his frantic worry.
Hint, hint, it definitely was not working and it made him want to break something. Jonathan looked around, the hat in his hands.
Edward couldn't be dead, he was dumb sometimes, but not that dumb. And surprisingly, he hasn't pissed off anyone recently that would want to kill him.
Shocker.
Jonathan knew he was being stupid. A quick breath in and an attempt at a slow breath gone wrong and he choked on his own breath. He reached his hands into his pockets, momentarily letting the bowler hat drop to the ground. His fingers fumbled in his pockets to find his phone.
He couldn't find it. Shit. He probably left it back at the house. That was so unlike him, he knew he should've caught at least an hour of rest, just so he'd be slightly more functional the next day. He could go without sleep but he should've known it wouldn't pan out today.
But he didn't figure that. And now he was left with a green hat, in the midst of some kind of episode, and no phone. This may be the one of the worser pickles he's been stuck in and that's saying something as the man who once broke his foot running from Batman, then broke his wrist trying to further get away, only to be caught anyways.
That was a bitch and a half, don't even get him started on it. Arkham doctors can't set bones for shit like the other rogues could and that's saying a lot. He could go off on a whole rant on the ways that Joker is awful at bone setting meanwhile Harvey is a fucking god at it.
He could still talk for hours about that incident for at least an hour. The other rogues never let him live it down, oh the teasing he received from Two-Face was absolutely horrendous despite the other side's attempts to apologize after.
To say Jonathan was absolutely fucked here was an understatement.
Jonathan looked around. His hands shook as he pulled them out from the warmth of his pockets to try and look around. He was going to do something today, maybe go grocery shopping, but he wanted to stop off here at the warehouse first to collect something, he couldn't even remember what that "something" was.
But no, of course, life had different plans for him when he found Eddie's stupid fucking hat.
His legs shook as he stood up and looked around. It was definitely more chilly than before. Or maybe he was just overthinking it. Maybe both.
He pushed himself up and off the ground, dusting his knees off with trembly hands.
Jonathan grabbed the bowler hat off the ground, lovingly brushing it off. He turned to the entrance, grabbing the doorknob, and leaving. The sun that was slowly coming up would usually be a welcome sight. All he wanted to do was get some groceries early while Edward was out doing his thing...too much to ask for apparently.
The breeze nipped at his exposed nose and fingertips. He shivered lightly. He had his long-sleeved button up on and his thicker coat. But it was still freezing. He looked around as the sky turned orange. This was bound to be a long day.
He turned to go home, his fingers clutching his shoulders tight, pulling the jacket further around himself. Edward wasn't dead, he himself was just being an idiot. Or more specifically, his sleep addled brain was being an idiot.
He needed to get home.
-----
"Batman, I have a riddle for you! What fumbling idiot do I know that dresses in all black and seems to enjoy failure? That's right, you guessed it! It's you!"
Riddler's ecstatic voice broke out over the intercom, his hands clapping together. His shit eating grin could be sensed through the speakers overhead. He was quite the expert at tone expression if he did say so himself.
Suddenly, over the intercoms, a ringing came about. The Batman below, standing awkwardly around, raised an eyebrow as he wondered if that was what he thought it was.
"Hello?"
That confirmed it. Riddler seriously picked up a phone call during this which spoke volumes of how important this must be to him. Usually Riddler never let himself be interrupted by anyone but his own self when he lost his train of thought.
"Yeah, Jonathan, it's okay. Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that. Consider it done, hon."
A sigh came out over the intercom. "Well Batman, as fun as this was, I must be returning home." The intercom immediately shut off afterwards and Batman could hear his footsteps above running off and to one of the other exits, reaffirming that Riddler was exactly above him like he figured.
Batman was left standing in awe as the Riddler ran off in the middle of one of their fights. This was probably the first time such a thing happened. Besides the time that Riddler claimed his oven was on and honestly that time, Batman believed it.
Must've been Scarecrow. Batman knew of their affections for each other but kept it secret of Jim and the others. He didn't like the rogues and their shenanigans but he wouldn't go for their personal relationships like that.
Wonder what went wrong this time.
-----
"Jonathan! You home yet?" Edward called out, his hands cupped around his mouth as he closed the front door behind him. He placed his cane besides the door, slipping his shoes off to throw them in the closet.
The house was oddly quiet. Suspiciously quiet. To the point that there was no way Jonathan was actually home. Or he was and he was dead. Either or, both of them being equally likely.
Edward continued to look around before he finally moved to the upstairs. The kitchen was empty, their separate bedrooms were empty, the "living room" was empty (really just a small room they shoved a TV and coffee table into), and all that left was the bathroom.
Which made sense. Showers always calmed Jon, Edward knew this. That used to be the routine when Jon had more regular panic attacks. Keeping a distance until the man calmed down all the while verbally comforting him. And then immediately drag him into a shower or bath to hug and caress his hair.
It worked until Jonathan slowly declined in the panic attack department. Which was good, of course. But now here they were again... Thankfully, Edward Nigma had quite the expertise in calming down one Jonathan Crane and wasn't afraid to put it to the test.
The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he walked up each step with a grimace. The noises sure gave him away. Which in a way was helpful, Jonathan wasn't scared by it, like most things, but the man preferred his warnings rather than being snuck up on.
He reached the bathroom, reaching out, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open. The door, a similar sound to the stairs, creaked open to reveal Jon sitting in the bathtub, arms around his legs that were folded to his chest.
Bony, gangly limbs that provided as a nice, little cage for Jon. A cage to protect himself in and hide his face from the world, his real face. Not the mask. Edward stepped forward with this musing strong in his mind. He let his hand hover above Jon's shoulder.
"What's always there when you need it if they're a good one?"
"You don't have to take it easy on me. A friend."
"Correct, Jon. Can I touch you?"
Jonathan nodded slowly, thinking about it hard. His slow nods quickly devolved into rapid, certain nodding. Edward lowered his hand, his fingertips pressing into the other's shoulder. He looked down at the man as he knelt down next to the bathtub. The knees of his pants were getting soaked, he could feel it and he cringed. Not important right now but he was still not enjoying the feeling.
Edward let out a soft sigh when Jon turned and shoved his face into the crook of his neck. The man's pointy nose jabbed his throat but he, for once, tried to not complain about it.
"Your nose is like a knife. It could cut my asparagus! Jesus." (But not complaining doesn't mean he can't crack witty jokes!)
Jonathan rolled his eyes before pulling back. He grabbed the other's hand, tugging on it.
"Get in here. I demand physical comfort in the bathtub at the moment. As things are, physical contact would be...greatly appreciated."
Edward has long since deciphered this as Jon's awkward way of asking for a hug. Or a kiss. Just any friendly touch would do but the other man seemed partial to being held after such stressful events. Whatever these...events were.
He slipped off his clothes, piece by piece, letting them drop to the floor with light thuds. Ed quickly picked it up and threw it into the basket, no reason to not put them away now. He turned to Jon who was shaking a head at his need to put the laundry away immediately.
"You just could not wait?"
"No! It's very important, don't you know? It's essential so our bathroom may stay clean. Personally, I like clean bathrooms."
Jon let out a light chuckle at that, waiting for Edward to finally get in, which he was working on. The Riddler placed his feet into the tub first, awkwardly moving around to sit himself behind the other.
His arms wrapped loosely around Jon's waist, his hands clasped to hold the man to him. He needed to keep him close and it just made all of this feel so warm. Any warmer and Edward could pass out in the tub right, then, and there, happy as can be.
"...What happened?"
Jonathan went deadly silent, his breath quietly hitching. Edward wouldn't even know if he wasn't specifically paying attention to the other man's breathing. His shoulders hiked up to his ears and the muscles in his back jumped. Edward rubbed his hip bone with his thumb pad in a gentle, circular motion. He hoped it was soothing enough.
"I went out to get groceries this morning while you were gone. I went to the warehouse to grab something and found your bowler hat. I got worried you were hurt or worse." Jonathan kept his gaze firmly to the wall in front of him.
The audible sigh from behind him told him everything he needed to know.
"Jon, why didn't you call me earlier then?"
"I forgot my phone back at the house at the time." Jonathan explained, feeling how Edward leaned his head in between his two shoulder blades. Ed's cheek pressed against his back, the second sigh reverberating throughout him.
"That explains it."
"Why was your bowler hat there?"
"It was a puzzle I was setting up for Batman. It's just another hat in my collection that I figured I could go without for this."
Jon didn't respond, simply quiet as he stared off. Edward didn't say anything. He knew better. Jon liked his awkward pauses in conversation. It gave the man time to plan out his responses, how he was going to act, what he would show, what he wouldn't willingly admit. To Jon, awkward pauses were prime time to plan out the entire rest of the conversation.
Edward could understand it.
"I apologize for pulling you out of your business. I know you've been planning out that particular monologue with Batman for weeks."
"You're more important than some legendary monologue." Edward said, smiling when Jon shot him a withering glare over his shoulder that seemed more like a pout (a cute one too) than a death stare. Or maybe that was just Edward.
Jon turned around, doing lots of shifting that Edward could hear splashing onto the tile floor. He'd dry it up later when Jon inevitably passed out in their bed. Shouldn't be a moment more if things went according to the usual schedule.
They met their lips together in a tender kiss. Jon wasn't aggressive, wasn't absolutely feral like one would expect. Neither was Edward. Jon was kissing him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world. And Edward was doing the same, vice versa.
Edward raised his hands up, resting one on the back of Jon's head as they pulled away. His hand slid down and around, cupping Jonathan's cheek as their foreheads carefully met. Edward looked through his brows just a smidge as he looked up at Jon. A soft smile overtook his face and he finally spoke.
"I love you."
"...and I you." Jonathan whispered it like it was a secret. Their secret. Their little interaction, their slice of heaven they couldn't let the rest of the world get their greedy, grimey hands on lest they stain it. And the icing on the top was the way Edwards heart pounded in his chest at the affection he held for this man in front of him.
Jonathan Crane. An odd case with an affinity for psychology, fear, scarecrows, all of this being public information. But really, only Edward knew that Jonathan loved to read but more importantly enjoyed poetry, Poe being a favorite. Edward knew how Jonathan liked his coffee, black on all-nighters and iced coffee with light creamer after a good night's sleep (as rare as that was for Jon).
Edward could list this man's insecurities, his greatest achievements, the way Jonathan despised most horror movie tropes and yet he'd watch the same ones with these tropes over and over again. He knew practically everything or so he'd think until Jonathan came out of the woodwork with another handful of information, just for him.
His heart pounded. He wanted to hold Jon and never let go but this obviously wasn't plausible. But if all he could get was a few minutes a day, well...he could still die a happy man. The Riddler, happy to sit in a tub with his (mildly mentally unstable) lover with a penchant for psychoanalysis while splashing soapy water all over their tile floor.
Edward didn't think he'd ever get this. This kind of blatant affection from someone else, as subtle as it may be sometimes. Such as the way that Jonathan would hold his hands during horror movies without comment since he knew Ed tended to get a bit scared. The way that Jonathan would always try and get him new puzzle books every week since Edward would always manage to finish the previous 2 books in a week or so.
Jon loved him in his own ways. And Edward to Jonathan. Edward could die happy. If he stopped breathing right then and there, well, that'd suck a bit to leave Jon like that, but he could be happy knowing he died like this, in someone else's loving arms.
If he died with a scarecrow wrapping his spindly limbs around him while his wet hair brushed against Ed's shoulders, he'd be okay with that. Quite alright. It made him smile wide even if this was a more morbid thought. It was sweet, at least to him. Jon would tease him mercilessly, for sure.
Ed had to keep some of his secrets to himself.
He finally looked up, seeing Jonathan who was smiling at him. The man raised one eyebrow, having pulled away about a minute ago but clearly Ed was too busy daydreaming to have noticed. The world always seemed to slow when they were together in quiet moments like these until every second blurred together into a mess of happiness.
"My fingers are getting a bit pruny. Let's get out." Jon said, or more so commanded. He stood up, his hand gesturing for Edward to stand up too. They stepped out of the tub.
"Set up the bed for me, I'm gonna drain the tub and quickly brush."
"Got it, can do."
Yeah. This would do. Edward couldn't have wished for a better way to live this life of his. As crazy as it may be.