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Jon knew that he shouldn't have done what he was about to do, that he should have listened to the alarms in his brain and the code black that literally glowed before his eyes as if to remind him that it was a stupid idea, yet he still slipped into Damian's room as soon as he heard him leave the mansion, slipping like a shadow past the window sill.
He had kept an eye on his friend for a few hours, sitting on the branch of the large oak tree in front of his bedroom and hiding in the foliage so as not to be seen even by accident; he had asked his brother Conner for advice about curbing the property's perimeter security measures and had worn one of the devices created by Tim especially for him on his wrist - Conner had denied it to the last, but it was pretty obvious that they were dating given the sly smile painted on his face as he claimed that, no, he and Tim weren't together -, managing to literally go unnoticed and prevent all the alarms from going off at the same time; he had foolishly held his breath and waited as patiently as he could, listening to Damian's heartbeat and his movements from the moment he had started meditating to when he had been practicing his violin, and Jon had only peeked a little when he had seen him doing yoga in front of the window, immediately looking away so as not to feel more like a stalker than he already was. He had almost thought of letting it go when Damian had finally been called by Bruce and they had gone out together, and only at that point had Jon let out a sigh of relief and entered his friend's room.
As much as he knew that room - evenings spent watching movies on the computer, playing video games, or reading comic books were wasted - Jon felt some discomfort at being there secretly and especially without Damian. It wasn't that he didn't have consent to enter - both of them had never had so many qualms about entering each other's rooms, Damian had a nasty habit of appearing on his window sill and giving him a heart attack - but he had done so to enact an idea so bizarre that... he was almost thinking of letting it go and retracing his steps as if nothing had happened. However, when he lowered his gaze to the huge wicker bag he had brought with him, Jon lifted one corner of his mouth in a small, embarrassed smile.
It was a stupid idea, Jon kept repeating it over and over in his head, nevertheless he set his bag down on the floor and pulled out a moon lamp, turning it over in his hands a little as he bit his lower lip. He had tried hard to let Damian know how intense his feelings for him were, but every time he did it seemed too little; they had never exactly said "I love you" to each other, their gestures had barely been a brush of hands and quick glances, somewhat awkward smiles and few caresses or hugs, and all because Jon had always been afraid that demonstrations that were too intimate or personal might stiffen Damian and put him a bit on the defensive. He knew Damian's past and had always known how uncomfortable certain things made him - only certain members of his family, particularly Dick, could even think of hugging him - and, as much as he had softened the armor Damian had created for himself over the years, Jon knew better than to pull too hard. The "friendly" hugs were still okay, but the rest was completely new for someone like Damian. And Jon had come up with that stupid idea to better express the feelings he had that could no longer stay buried in a corner of his heart.
At those thoughts he mussed his hair, frustrated. He didn't know when Damian would be back, and so he couldn't afford to waste time and mess up his plans, so he pulled everything he had brought with him out of his bag and hovered toward the ceiling, beginning to stick on it what looked like little glowing stickers; then it was the turn of the lamps and he tried to place them as best he could and with extreme care, meticulously checking every detail and moving them over and over again when he wasn't quite convinced of where he had placed them.
He wasted more time than he would have liked, fluttering in every corner of the room and almost risking dropping one of the lamps several times from the excited trembling of his hands, but in the end he succeeded and, with a smile that went from ear to ear, he looked at his own handiwork with satisfaction. He still felt a little dumb, but, hey, didn't people do crazy things when they were in love? He laughed to himself at that thought and also grabbed the themed card he had brought with him - a miniature of Van Gogh's Starry Night, he had seen how passionately Damian had looked at it during the art exhibition they had gone to and couldn't resist - and tried to write in the neatest handwriting he could come up with, trying to be intelligible so that his friend could decipher his usual clawed handwriting and then place the note in the most visible spot in the bedroom, namely on the easel facing right toward the window and below one of the large lamps.
When Damian returned hours later, almost at nightfall, and found himself gazing at the myriad of phosphorescent stars shimmering on the ceiling along with the two lamps depicting the sun and the moon, Jon did not miss the little jolt his heart had at that sight. He would have liked to see his expression, the astonishment surely painted on his face and the blinking of her eyelids, but he had to content himself with listening from a distance, excited in turn at what he had done.
«You're an idiot, J,» he whispered, and those words reached Jon's ears as if he had been there. He had spoken them in a soft, almost poignant tone, and Jon was pretty sure he had never heard Damian speak like that. He soon granted him his privacy and hurried off, not realizing that his wake had been seen by Damian himself, who, with his hands resting on the window sill, had cast a glance skyward before chuckling.
Damian would never have admitted it, but that surprise had been more than welcome; he had never been one for romantic demonstrations and what Jon had done was a bit "stagey" even for him, nevertheless he had appreciated it in no small part and, at the sight of the note folded elegantly on the easel, he could not help but smile at seeing Van Gogh's starry night. That idiot...
Damian grabbed and carefully opened it, as if it had been an extremely fragile object, laughing serenely as he clutched the note that said, “You're my moon, my sun, and all the stars.”