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The first time it happens, Bart is laying in bed, teary-eyed and holding onto some dumb Flash plushie Tim had bought him as a joke. The ceiling of his room glows with those stick-on stars, and the bustle of Central City blares outside his window. Sometimes Bart thinks he can convince himself that he can still hear the southern cricket’s songs.
Bart's thoughts are running a mile a minute all rollercoastering around Tim. The way he smiles at Bernard, or how casually he lets Kon hold him; how just amazingly smart he is and how he never acknowledges Bart.
The fact of the matter stings in Bart’s heart. Tim is queer. Tim is queer and never told him. Which, sure, whatever. Bart never told the team he was gay, but whatever. It’s not like Bart had a boyfriend he loved. No, it doesn’t matter that Tim cares so little about being a part of Bart's life that he’d tell him. Whatever. Bart doesn’t care that Tim treats him like he's just…air. Tim Drake is friends with Impulse , not including Barthollomew Henry Allen II. What a stupid fucking name that was. It was pretentious and obnoxious and no wonder Tim didn’t bother with him.
There's a shift in the room, the sound of a window opening and a breeze of cold air. Kon-el Kent stands, or rather flies, at the window. “Hi”
Bart rolls over in bed and looks at his friend. The Flash plushie falls to the floor as he sighs “What are you doing here? It's like– two am”
Kon opens the window more and starts to climb in. He’s careful to dodge all of Bart’s mess as he walks towards the bed, picking up the dropped plush and putting it in Bart’s arms. “I heard you crying.”
Bart sniffles and wipes away still-falling tears. “I’m not crying, jackass”
“Ok, I heard you not-crying. I felt you yearning so hard you were practically radiating Mitski lyrics” Kon jokes, sitting down next to him in bed. It makes Bart laugh a little, and he counts that as a win.
“Just, whatever,” Bart mumbles, turning away. “I didn’t want you to come comfort me or whatever.”
“Who said I didn’t fly over to join in the Mitski-fest.” Kon replies, humming along to the soft music that's playing from Bart’s phone.
“Yeah? And who are you yearning for?” Bart asks, more as a snark than anything, except Kon replies in earnest “Tim.” and, oh.
“Shit,” Bart lets out a weak laugh, rubbing his hands over his eyes to try to mask the tears. “We’re fucking idiots, man.”
Kon sighs, eyes tracking the glow-in-the-dark stars pasted on Bart’s ceiling. “Yeah, we are.” He pauses for a long moment, then speaks. “You want to get high and make out?” The question takes Bart by surprise.
“What?”
“Do you. Want to. Smoke weed. And. Make out. With me.” Kon repeats slowly. “You like Tim, I like Tim, he has a boyfriend, we’re fucking miserable and I have weed in my jacket pocket.” and, really, that's a good enough argument for Bart.
“Not in my room, though.” he argues. “Somewhere else.”
Kon smirks to himself, “Well I can fly, you have superspeed, and there's just miles of cornfields for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m not getting stoned in the middle of a cornfield, Kon.” Bart argues, face scrunched up in annoyance.
Except, Kon is scooping Bart up and flying away, still wrapped in blankets. They fly away from the city– Bart fucking hates the city, so good riddance, and lands in some open cornfield miles away from anything. He puts Bart down on the roof of some old silo, and sits down next to him.
“There, not technically in a cornfield” Kon says, a stupid grin on his face. He pulls out a half-smoked joint he had saved and lights it before passing it to Bart.
Bart takes a long drag, slow and careful, so unlike everything he’s ever done– ever been. “Hey, while we’re lamenting about everything being shit. You ever get the feeling you’re still dead?” he asks, passing back the blunt for Kon to take.
“No…” Kon mutters, and it's a lie, he knows it is. Still, he focuses on the way his lungs burn when he breathes in, and the way their air smells like weed and freshly cut grass.
Bart leans back, wrapping the blanket around himself. “Damn…its…its weird.” he says, voice quiet, almost. “It's like…” he can’t find the words. The weeds making him slightly groggy, and he’s never voiced this out loud, but he continues “I think people liked me more when I was dead.”
“Yeah?” Kon echoes, throwing out the roach before reaching into his pocket.
“Yeah,” Bart replies, taking the lighter from Kon’s hold and reaching out for the blunt.
“You know I’m not even really…real?” Kon mentions, offhandedly “Not-not real like you’re not, but kind of, I guess?”
“I’m real.” Bart protests, a snap in his voice. “I’m real, Kon.”
“No, I know, but like, legally.” Kon continues. “Legally we don’t…I dunno…I mean you’re from the 30th century, so you kind of are a legal person? I'm just…”
“You’re thinking too much.” Bart states matter-of-factly “You ever shotgunned?’
Kon raises his eyebrows. “I haven't. Teach me?” which is a total lie, but neither boy seems to care. Bart leans in close, and his breath smells like mint and weed, and it's warm, and Bart has never kissed a guy before but now they're kissing, and Kon’s breathing in smoke like it's his last breath, and his head is spinning, and, and–
Bart moves so that he’s sitting on Kon’s lap, almost straddling him. He’s kissing and kissing and Kon is wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Kon grabs his hand and holds it, leading the still-smoldering blunt to his hand. Gently, he kisses Bart's hand before taking the blunt in his lips.
“Holy shit, holy shit, Kon, that's, like, stupidly hot,” Bart whispers, face flushed.
A cocky grin tugs at Kon’s lips; “I have quite the mouth”
Bart coughs up a laugh, shoving himself off Kon by his chest “Nope. You killed the mood. You’re a horrible flirt and I hate you.”
“Hey, come back ‘ere!” Kon calls out in a fit of giggles, throwing his arm over top of Bart and laying down on him. “I am a great flirt and you’re smoking all my pot so you have to put up with it.” He jokes.
“I hate you,” Bart jokes before blowing a puff of smoke in Kon’s face. He is desperately trying to let himself sink into that fuzzy feeling, and not think about how Kon is effectively holding him down and oh god. Bart charges forward and pulls Kon into a kiss by his mop of curly hair. The older boy only gives a surprised noise, but quickly switches to that same handsy, tongue-on-tongue pace as before.
Bart pulls away for just a moment, long enough to shift his position so that his thigh wasn’t rubbing up on Kon like that and points out, “I’m not fucking you in a cornfield.”
“Who said we were going to fuck?” Kon asks, and it sounds genuine. He pauses, slowly turning bright red, then mutters; “ Ah, I see”
“I’m not giving you a handy in a cornfield either.” Bart responds, grinning wickedly.
“Its the weed.” Kon lies. He sits up and climbs off Bart. “Let's forget this happened”
Bart elbows him lightly. “I said I wouldn’t fuck you in a cornfield, not that I wouldn’t fuck you, period.”
“Yeah, not tonight.” Kon mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.
“Why not?” Bart asks, his head tilting to the left a little, something he always does when confused.
“We’re stoned. It– I should just take you home, Bart.” What Kon wants to say is ‘ I never should have brought you out here anyway ’, but he doesn’t.
Bart thinks, quietly, for a long moment. “Ok, you can take me home, if you want.”
On the way home, Bart falls asleep in Kon’s arms and Kon can’t help but notice that warm swelling in his chest as he lays his friend in his bed.
The second time it happens, it's a warm summer evening and Bart has just had a terrible day. He shoots Kon a text – a simple ‘🍃?’ and that's all it takes to get them both back on that damned silo roof. Bart is sitting on Kon’s lap, his head tilted back so he could rest on the other’s shoulder and still look up at the stars.
“There's a meteor shower next week,” Bart says, trails of smoke rising up from his lips. He feels…heavy. That's the right word– he feels heavy. Kon has his arms wrapped around him at the waist, and the hold feels secure, almost mind-numbingly warm. Bart’s mind is melting, he decides. It's soup– brain soup.
“Yeah?” it all Kon can muster in reply. He blinks slowly, looking up at the sky.
“Yeah,” Bart replies. He tilts his head to the side and nuzzles into the crook of Kon’s neck. Gently, he starts pepping soft kisses over Kon’s throat, moving down and lingering his lips above the collar of his shirt. Bart takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then just lets himself lean on Kon. “What are we?” he mumbles softly.
Kon tenses and glows warm. He begins to stutter out “I– uh–”, but Bart is giggling against him.
“No, idiot, not– not like that. I mean…like– are we even really…human? Or– ok you’re not human, that's just a fact but that's not what I mean. You know what I mean, right?”
Kon does not, in fact, know what he meant. Nonetheless, he tries to understand it. “This about the whole…clone boy and raised-by-ai boy thing we have going on?”
“Yeah.” Bart replies. His breathing is slow and careful as he just sits in Kon’s arms. “What are we, really?”
Kon thinks in quiet for a long moment; the high was making his brain fuzzy. “I don’t think we’re anything. I think we should get to choose what we are.”
Bart nuzzles into Kon “We should be stars.”
“Stars?” Kon echoes.
“Constellations” Bart changes his mind. “A bunch of stars. That's us.”
“Which constellations, then?”
Bart hums to himself. “Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.” He doesn't say that, when he was little, those were the only constellations that hadn’t changed in all those hundreds of years– that they never will change in hundreds more.
“Big bear and little bear, eh?” Kon laughs warmly. He leans forward and kisses Bart, landing more on his cheek than his lips. "I like that."
"I like you," Bart replies with a dopey grin. He giggles and looks up at Kon. He can't help but get lost in those mismatched blue-green eyes that reflect oceans and forests, like Kon held the entire world in just his eyes.
Kon looks down and places a far-too-gentle kiss on Bart’s forehead. It makes something in Bart’s chest come ablaze; it feels like warm snow or dark sunlight– something uneven and paradoxical and new. He wants Kon to kiss him like that again – like they were lovers and not half-assed stoned one-night stands. Yet, Bart knows in his heart-of-hearts that it's pointless. Kon likes Tim, and no one loves Bart Allen.
“You’re crying.” Kon murmurs, gently wiping the tears from Bart’s blushing cheeks. “Please don’t cry.”
Bart lets out a strangled laugh– like a baby bird’s broken chirp or keen. “’m ‘ot crying.”
Kon hums, and Bart can feel the rumble of it against his back. He closes his eyes and focuses on that feeling of rising and falling with Kon’s chest. There's a comfort to the slow, constant rhythm that keeps Bart from breaking to pieces right then and there, atop that stupid silo.
“What's wrong?” Kon asks with a stupid warm and low voice and that same rumble in his chest. He– he doesn’t sound like Clark, but there's the accent– that particular twang and cadence that makes Kon sound solid. It rattles something in Bart when he talks like that, all slow and gentle and every bit the Superman that Kon’s supposed to be.
“I don’t think anyones ever loved me, really, actually loved me.” Bart admits, blabbering out like it's something he can just say– like it doesn’t make him sound broken and pathetic and as unloveable as he feels.
Kon brushes his chin against the top of Bart’s head and hugs him closer. There's some choked up block in his mind that Kon can’t get passed. Everything feels so big– the world and Superman and Bart and Kon’s thoughts. It's like his feelings burn in his chest like a red giant star, hot and angry and so, so destructive.
“What about me?” Kon asks, his voice shaking “I love you.”
“Well,” Bart hesitates, trying to find the words. “You’re my best friend. You don't count.”
“But I love you, Bart Allen. You are one of the smartest, most kind, lively, awesome people I have ever had the honor of meeting. I love you, little bear.”
Bart blushes bright red. He turns away and mutters “Who said you got to be the big bear?”
“Cuz I'm bigger!” Kon giggles. He practically has Bart in a bear hug, the smaller male sitting snugly in his lap. “And stronger.” he says, standing up and lifting Bart from under his armpits. The boy went limp, sagging in Kon’s arms like a cat.
“Hey, hey put me down!’ Bart laughs loudly, bubbly and light like the sun, and he thrashed lightly as Kon swung him around back and forth, calling out “Little Bear! Little Bear! Itty bitty bear!”
“I hate you–” Bart barks out a laugh, “ – put me down! I’m not little!!!” he whines. In all their tussle, Bart’s kicking causes one of his shoes to go flying, soaring off into the fields of corn.
Kon snorts loudly, trying to stifle a laugh. But then Bart is kicking again and his other shoe is gone in the corn and Kon is roaring, laughing loudly with a heavy tone. It's loud and almost harsh but it makes Bart feel warm inside.
"Your shoes!" Kon calls out, gesturing towards the grass and waving Bart around like a limp ferret.
The night seems to dissolve into fizzled off laughter and warmth. Kon brings Bart home by morning, and they set off into their own lives.
It's on their fourth or fifth whatever one of these are when Kon gets called to report to the watchtower. The timing couldn't be worse – Kon is very shirtless and very high and Bart is straddling him in a way that makes his body feel electric. The other boy is practically engulfed in Kon’s black and red flannel that covers his blushing shoulders and boney frame. Bart is, more or less, more clothed than Kon, but that wasn’t saying much.
“Shhit, shit…shit,” Kon hissed, pushing Bart off him and reaching in his pocket– no, crap, not in pants. Where are his pants? Oh god–
“Phone.” Bart says, passing Kon’s phone to him for him to answer.
“Hheeelllllllllllooooo….?” Kon says slowly, questioningly.
“Kon-El Kent.” Clark’s voice came from the other end of the phone. Kon looked at Bart with wide eyes and an Oh Fuck expression.
“Did he full name you??” Bart mouths. Kon is absolutely clueless to what he was trying to say.
“Hi, supes, superman, daddio, pops, mr Kent. uhhh– what's up? Isn't it past your like, super -bedtime or something?” Kon asks, much to Bart and his own horror.
Clark just sighs– he sounds so much like Bruce when he’s annoyed– “Just. We need you to report to the watchtower.”
Shit. Shit. Oh god. Oh fuck. “Yeah, Watchtower. I can do that. Now?”
“Yes, now.” Is all Clark replies before hanging up.
Kon looks at Bart, who's giggling to himself. “Dude, I’m so fucked.”
“You’ll be fine, idiot. Put your pants on.” Bart jokes, throwing Kon’s pants on his lap and climbing off.
“You– I can bring you home?” Kon offers. He’s trying to put his pants on and not fall off that damn silo roof, and it's causing a bit of a difficulty.
Bart has a shit eating grin. A phone-camera clicks, and a perfect photo of a very stoned and very struggling Kon is saved to Bart’s phone. “Go report to daddio, I got it here.”
“I hate you.” Kon says, but he still pulls Bart forward in a warm kiss that leaves them both breathless before soaring off into the skies.
Kon makes it to the watchtower in record time. The central hub is almost empty, save for Superman and Batman.
“Hi, you called?” Kon pipes up, walking over to them.
“You’re missing a shoe.” Batman drawls, bored or sort of tired.
“You’re missing your shirt, too.” Clark points out.
A new voice– a familiar voice– speaks up as another person steps into the room. “You’re covered in fucking love bites.” A laugh, sort of dry and almost harsh, but still caring. “Jesus, Kon, we didn’t call you while you were fucking someone, right?” Robin asks.
“Hiiii, Tim.” Kon smiles and goes to lean on– something– and ends up stumbling over himself. God– Kon must look like a mess, half dressed with kiss swollen lips and little bites all over because Bart is a clingy little shit.
“So we all agree Kon is not fit for watchtower duty tonight, yes?” Batman asks, turning to Clark and waiting for a reaction.
“Yes,” Clark agrees. Under the fog of love-struck high, something in Kon splinters. Then theres something else, a spark of panic because Clark just suggested to call on Impulse and–
“Nope! Nope! Can’t uh, can’t call Impy. He’s…indisposed? On a mission? On a secret mission, yeah. All the way in– in–ccccc…central Asia. Yep.” Kon says with a practiced grin. He can feel Tim glare lasers into his head.
“Are you and Bart fucking!?” Tim asks, and he sounds more surprised and sleep deprived than angry, but, yeah. Definitely slightly angry.
“...No…..” Kon drawls, and it isn’t technically a lie. They're not having sex – just getting high together with the added bonus of occasional heavy petting. Then, he blabbers out; “You wanna join us?”
Tim scrunches up, his lips pulled into a tight neutral expression. His cheeks are bright pink, and he shifts his weight from left to right to left again.
“Boys.” Bruce cuts in. He's practically sagging under the weight of sleep. He’s not wearing his cowl, hair amess with sweat. His black makeup is smudged so poorly it makes him look like he’s wearing a domino of his own, and his stubble is starting to grow out. He looks pale, almost a sickly green and waivers when he stands. Tim is in a similar state.
“Sorry. Mr. Batman.” Kon mutters. “I can um– handle watchtower duty tonight. Really. You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up. Which– I’ve seen Robin do, mind you.”
Bruce pinches the wrinkled up bridge of his nose with a grimace. “I don’t care . Clark, you decide. I’m sleeping here.” He grumbles before tumbling away through a dimly lit hall in the watchtower – it led to private bedrooms that leaguers could use.
“Alright,” Clark waves at him, then turns back to the main console. “Robin, can you take Superboy to lie down?”
“Yeah, come on.” Tim grabs Kon by the arm and drags him into an empty bedroom. He almost stomps away, boiling and stewing in his emotions. Kon flops onto the bed with a small, cracked-up smile. He pats down his pants for a moment before pulling out a lighter and half-smoked blunt. He holds it out to Tim.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke in the Watchtower,” Tim mutters, voice strewn with disdain. Kon just shrugs and lights it himself. “Helps you loosen up?”
“Kon,” Tim lets out a long, drawn out sigh. He sits down on the bed next to his best friend. Gloved hands slipping off a mask and then Tim and Kon meet mismatched eye-to-eye. “You and Bart?” He asks.
“What does it matter?” Kon replies before taking a long drag. Tim watches as he seems to relax, his shoulders slumping over and eyes slowly shutting.
“It matters,” Tim whispers. His voice is barely audible. “It matters to me.”
“You have a boyfriend. God forbid I have, you know, whatever me and Bart are.” Kon snaps. He turns away and falls back onto the plush bed.
“What are you two?” Tim asks. He’s fidgeting with his metal gauntlets, eyes flicking around the room.
Kon hums to himself. “We’re us.” He pauses, angling his head so that he could look out the window, and see the vast expanse of space around him. “We…” He hesitates for a long moment.
Tim reaches sideways and grabs the blunt from Kon’s hand and lets himself take a hit. He sighs, the smoke escaping and fogging up the window Kon was looking out of.
“I think I’m falling in love with him.” Kon admits, finally.
“You think?” Tim asks. He leans down on Kon’s side and rests his head on Kon’s shoulder.
Kon sighs and rubs at his face. “I– god, yeah. I don’t know, I just…we’re not…we’re not dating , you know? Its just fucking around.”
“You know, they do say fuck around and find out.”
Kon lets put a grating laugh. "I sure found out. God."
"So, how did this all start?" Tim asks, somewhere between a caring friend and therapist.
“Well, I was like ‘hey, wanna get high and make out?’ and he was like ‘yeah!’ and then it's just.” Kon gestures around wildly. “I’m in love with him.”
“Damn,” Tim mutters, thinking. “Does he like you?”
“I don’t know! I mean– I don’t think so? I doubt it. I– I just–” Kon sighs loudly. ‘“He said he loves me but I don’t know if it's like– as friends? Or if he wants to be more?!”
“Ok, what is the context of the I love you?” Tim asks, laughing to himself as Kon dramatizes his love life like it was a Shakespearean tragedy.
“So, I was holding him to my chest, right? And we were floating and he kicked his shoes into a cornfield because he's an idiot and I love him, and I was like ‘I would search through every cornfield for you’ and he just– he looked up at me with those big golden eyes and he just. He said he loved me.”
Tim lets out a long sigh. “Dude. Shoot your shot.”
“But–” Kon starts
“Nope. no buts. You’re going to bed, and the next time you two have one of those whatevers, you’re telling him you like him.” Tim decides, sitting up and pushing Kon onto the bed. He grabs a blanket and wraps it around the clone's shoulders. “What's the worst that can happen?”
The next time the two meet up, it's an accident. Bart is just…he's having a hard time, so he decided to go to the silo with a small cooler of specialty made beer for speedsters. Bart is pretty sure that Barry is going to kill him when he finds out he took some. He doesn't really care, though.
Barts over halfway through a barely cool six pack when something gets his attention. The direction of the wind shifting, maybe. It's enough to get him to stand, to look around – to lose his footing and tumble off the silo roof. It's a dumb way to die. Drunk in a cornfield and alone. Why did Bart ever think he should expect anything more?
But his body never does hit the hard ground. He lands, almost soft, in someone's arms. Kon’s blue-green eyes peer down with wonder and confusion. If Bart wasn’t so wasted, he might have been able to get some words out besides a slurred “ Hi…?”
Kon just looks at him strangely. Furrows his brows and studies Bart’s face. “Say something.” Bart begs as Kon places him on the ground.
Bart shoots up and shoves at him “Kon– say something .”
Kon is quiet. He’s unsure on his footing, and the only thing he can muster is – “You were falling.”
“I know that, idiot. You catched- no- no- uhh – caught me.? You caught me!” a smile starts to grow, and Bart giggles to himself. “You– you’re like, Superman or something’”
“ Bart. ” Kon mutters, and his voice sounds so empty that it actually makes Bart shiver. Kon just looks at him, quietly, repeats; “You…you were falling.”
“Yeah, I tripped,” Bart snaps back. He’s confused– he doesn’t get why Kon is upset. It was an accident so– so why is Kon shaking like that? Like, he might start crying, right then and there?
Kon steps forward, reaches out, and suddenly Bart gets slammed face first into a hug. Kon– Kon isn’t a hugger, not really, but he won't let go. He just holds Bart tight.
“You smell like beer.” Kon points out, for no reason in particular.
Bart laughs “yeah! I’m…kinda drunk.”
“So, you tripped,” Kon repeats, voice unsure.
“I tripped.” Bart echoes, surely.
“You…you didn’t mean to fall?”
Bart buries his head in the crook of Kon’s neck. “No, I didn't mean to fall, idiot. I'm not– suu–shui–shit words are hard...”
“You don't want to die?” Kon supplies.
“Nope, don't want to die.” Bart confirms. Then, he blurts; “Only sometimes. Not tonight though.”
All Kon can think to do is hold him close. He doesn’t want to let go– doesn’t ever want to risk that again. He– he didn’t think he could live with himself if that happened.
“I love you.” Kon says, and he means it, really, deeply means it.
Bart holds onto him. “Can we lay down?” He asks, and the both of them are sprawled on the grass before Bart can even say please. Bart is sprawled across Kon’s chest, their legs tangled together and arms trapped between each other.
Kon runs his fingers through Bart’s hair as he looks up at the stars. “I love you.” he says again.
Bart nuzzles into Kon, mumbling to himself. He says something, muffled and quiet, but Kon can hear it. It makes his heart practically skip a beat. He doesn’t say anything, but he lets Bart climb on top of him. The brown-haired boy moves in a sort of a messy manner, unbalanced and awkward as he lays himself on top of Kon. Leaning down, he begins to slowly place kisses across Kon’s neck and up his jaw. Kon wraps his arms around Bart and holds him close. He kisses the other gently – Bart tastes like cherry soda and beer.
Kon breaks the kiss and leans back. “I love you, you know that? I love you.”
Bart hisses out a drawn out shush and tries to kiss the other again. Kon leans back, placing a gentle hand on Bart’s chest.
“Bart, listen to me. Please?” Kon asks, and Bart looks up at him with big, blown out eyes and trembling lips, like he might start crying.
“No, don’t want to talk.” Bart mumbles. He leans forward and places his forehead against Kon’s.
“You could have died tonight, little bear, “ Kon whispers, like it's a secret, like he can't dare to admit it.
Bart lets out a quiet whimper. “I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about it.” And he's back on Kon in an instant, kissing him. And suddenly, the world is going all upside – Bart is falling, and the warmth of Kon under him is gone, back hitting the cold ground with a thump. He looks up and sees the sky of stars.
“Bart, fucking– listen to me!” Kon snaps, and Bart is suddenly so aware of everything, of Kon’s hands against his chest as he shoves him away, into the cold. It hurt, too – Kon never was good at controlling his strength when he was upset.
“I am listening! I could have died! So what?! ” Bart barks out. He’s drunk – his world is spinning, and there's no tether to keep him grounded.
“So what?!” Kon snaps back, voice rising and fists shaking and eyes glowing red and angry and – “You could have died! Don’t you understand that?”
“I understand, Kon! But– it's not like it would be the first time! No one cared then and no one would care now!” Bart practically howls. There's nothing holding him back, making him have a filter, or anything . It all just comes out, whether or not he wants it to.
Kon charges forward and grabs at Bart’s wrist, trying to hold him. “I would! I would, Bart! Just listen to me !” but Bart is pulling away, fighting him off and– and Kon is hurting him. The grip is too tight, fingers digging into flesh and carving homes into muscles. It hurts– it hurts so much and Kon doesn’t even realize.
“What do you want from me?!” Bart yells, pulling himself away and falling onto his back from the force. He sits up, steadies himself, and scoots away from Kon. “What– what do you even want, Kon? I mean what are we even doing out here, man? I– I–” he stutters, giving way for Kon to sit up and speak.
“I want you. I, really, really want you. God, Bart, I love you!” Kon replies, reaching forward again and grabbing the other hand.
Bart seemingly goes limp, almost lifeless, eyes glossing over in a sort of unclear funk. “You can’t love me.” he mutters, shoulders shaking in a weak sort of way. “You’re Superboy– you– you can’t love me.”
“I can, and I do,”
“No you don't.” Bart snaps back. “You’ve never even been loved, really loved, by someone and known it. How the hell do you know what it's supposed to feel like?”
Kon falls silent for a long moment. Then, Bart is laying on his back, sprawled out in the dirt, giggling to himself or maybe crying. Kon can’t quite tell.
“Love– love sucks, man. You think your family is supposed to love you and they don't. Civilians love you but they don't even know you so it can't be love. And– and when you do love someone, it hurts. It feels like a big fucking fire– like a goddamn star exploded in the place where your hearts supposed to be, and it hurts. You don't love me.”
“I do,” Kon replies, voice quiet. “I do love you.”
“If you love me, Kon-el, you dont love me in a way I fucking understand.” Bart replies, slurred and half-pronounced wrong. He's struggling to remember the words to the quote.
“Did you just quote a poem– at me?” Kon asks, and he feels so stupid doing it.
Bart tosses his arm over his head and looks away, cringing to himself “Yes! I don’t know! I think! What does it matter?!”
Kon nudges him lightly, “I think it's cute.”
“I'm leaving,” Bart says, and that's all the warning he gives before shooting off like an arrow.
He gets caught up with his body about halfway through Cassie’s bedroom window. “Cassie!” He calls out, because of course he didn’t check to see if she was home before climbing up to her second story window and sticking his head in.
Cassie walks in moments later– she's in a baggy shirt with the Arrowette logo and a pair of sleep shorts and halfway through putting her hair up in a ponytail. “Bart?” she asks “What– it's like– 1 am?”
“Kon just said he's in love with me and I’m very drunk and I didn’t know where to go.” Bart blurts out, causing Cassie to give a long, drawn out sigh.
“Right, ok, come on.” She says, grabbing at Bart’s hands and pulling him fully inside. “Start from the beginning.”
“I stole Wally's beer.” Cassie nods, and Bart continues. “I fell off a silo roof. Um, Kon and I go there to make out and get high together sometimes. But so I fell off–”
“Woah. hang on. Since when have you and Kon been a thing?” Cassie cuts in.
Bart gives her a dumbstricken look. “We’re not a thing? We just…get high, make out. Stuff like that.”
“But you said he said he loves you?”
“That's not the point! So– I fell off the silo, right? And I was like– oh ok guess I'm gonna die whatever, and then he was there! ” Bart got louder and louder until he was shouting, throwing his hands up in the air.
Cassie raises her eyebrows. “And that's a bad thing?”
“No, but he was all, shaky, you know? Like all freaked out and ‘you could have died’ or whatever. It was weird. He was acting weird. And then he told me he loves me, which he doesn’t, but whatever.”
“Have you thought that, maybe, he was scared for you?” Cassie asks sarcastically. Bart groans loudly and lays onto the bed.
“So what ? I woulda been fine.”
“You fell off a silo, Bart.” Cassie drawls.
"And?" He snaps
Cassie sighs, pats Bart's hair, then lays down on her bed. "So do you love him?"
“More than anything.” he admits, voice warbling.
The call comes through at 3:23 in the morning – three weeks after Bart drunkenly blew up in Kon’s face. Bart sits up in his bed, reaches for his phone, and picks it up without even checking who's calling. When it's Kon’s voice – a sort of dark growl, full with want – it jolts him awake.
“ Hey. ” Kon mutters, voice– different .
“What?” Bart asks. He's too tired for this– he can’t deal with feelings. Then, there's a knock at his window, and Kon is flying, just waiting for Bart to notice him.
Bart, against all better judgment, gets up and pulls him in. Kon is throwing himself on Bart, wrapping his arms around him, pushing him against the dresser, and kissing, kissing, kissing.
“Kon–” Bart gasps out, sort of pushing at him, trying to pry him away. “What–”
Kon is busy feeling Bart up– rocking against him in a sort of awkward way. “Can we just– please I don't want to talk. Can we just?”
Bart feels like he's burning – he can’t quite place it– like, just having Kon there, breathing down his neck. It feels real.
This feels real.
It's everything he wants, and probably shouldn’t have. Like, he could feel Cassie glaring at him, telling him it's a bad idea.
You love him – it's going to rip you apart.
But– this all– this moment– his back hitting his bed and Kon on top of him–
He's perfectly okay with going supernova.
When he wakes up in the morning, Kon is still there. His chest is rising and falling against Bart’s back, and they're skin to skin, and it's all warm. Bart wants this– no, no he needs this, needs to feel Kon’s hands wrapped around him and breath down his neck.
Instead, the first thing he says is; “Please leave.”
The next thing he does is, regrettably, calls Cassie. The phone rings once, then twice, then a voice comes through.
“Good morning?” She asks, yawning.
“Kon and I fucked and I kicked him out and I don’t know what to do.” Bart blurts out. He's digging through a shoebox in his room for a handful of blunts. He grabs one, lights it, and takes a long drag. It tastes like Kon’s breath.
“Ok, first things first– calm down” Cassie says, then, “I can hear you lighting something.”
“Blunt.” Bart answers, shortly. “I need help– Cassie, did I ruin everything?”
Cassie sighs “No, you just fucked him.”
“And kicked him out” Bart adds, like it's the most important thing he’ll ever say.
“Yes, and kicked him out.” Cassie repeats. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I love him. It's killing me. It's killing me, Cassie. I love him and it's killing me.”
And, from across the fields of grain and cities and far–away sunrises, Kon is sprawled out across Tim’s couch, crying, and crying, and crying.
“I love him, Tim. I love him, and he kicked me out!” Kon laments, and Tim is sitting next to him, bong placed in his lap.
“Yeah, and he kicked you out.” Tim replies, head leaned forward, body slumped over and relaxed. “Why’d he do that?” He drawls out.
“I dont know!” Kon leans down and grabs the bong, then sits back up.
And, like the universe coliding– like Ursa Minor and Ursa Major side by side up in the sky every night– at the very both moment, in the very same second, both boys blurt out; “I don’t even know why I fucked him.”
To which, in that very second moment, both companions replied; “Because you love him.”
After that, something shifts. Not a week later, and Bart is at Kon’s window, climbing on top of him and–
In the morning, Bart leaves before Kon wakes up.
Two weeks, Kon is back in Barts apartment and–
Bart lets Kon hold him through the night, and again in the morning, whispers out, “please leave.”
Again, and again, and again, they cycle around each other, like the sun and moon– and each time, they leave something of themselves – a constellation’s single, burning, star – until there's barely anything left – until they're just remnants of who they can be – until ursa minor and ursa major are nothing but the dippers.
It's the middle of winter – months and months since they started this whole affair – that the two meet each other on that silo roof again. Bart is wrapped tight in one of Kon’s flannels, a red and black one that practically goes down to his knees. He doesn't expect Kon to be there– let alone to see him .
The two look at each other strangely. The flannel isn't the only thing Bart is wearing, but the speedster sometimes gets too hot for comfort, so, to say it's the only thing really covering anything would be accurate. His shoulders and neck are both visible, freckles and love bites dot across his skin like a sky full of stars. His hair is pulled up into two little pigtails – courtesy of sleeping over at Cassie's.
Kon– he's cold, or, at least he thought he was before seeing Bart dressed like that . Dumbfounded, the only thing he can say is a gasped out; "Hi?"
"Shit," Bart hisses, turning away. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be…out here."
"Don't worry about it," Kon supplies. There's smoke floating out his mouth as he speaks, and Bart doesn't even say anything, but he reaches out and Kon easily places the cigarette between his fingers.
"Switched to the hard stuff, eh?" Bart asks as he studies the burning cigarette. He can't bring himself to look at Kon – he thinks his heart will go supernova if he does.
But Kon is laughing, that dry, rough laugh that makes Bart feel all warm inside, and he nudges Bart's shoulder like he can just do that and says, oh so casually; "Bad day."
Bart fiddles with the cigarette, never actually taking a drag – just looking at it. Part of himself wonders what it would feel like to snuff it out against his thigh or his arm or wherever would hurt the most. He doesn't do that, because Kon is there and–
Kon is kissing him. Not like the other times; not late teen hormones or a desperate desire to forget everything else. It's…soft. Gentle, maybe. It's loving – that's what it is.
Bart doesn't even notice that he tosses away the cigarette as he throws himself into Kon's arms.
There's this heat– this burning that seems to encompass them as they finally, really, hold each other. It's all warm, and good, before Kon sits back.
“I’m leaving.” He says, like it's the most casual thing. It makes Bart stop in his tracks– makes his heart skip a beat or maybe even break. He should have known that this couldn't happen– that this could never happen. Kon is Superboy and Superboy can’t love anyone because he has to love everyone.
“Where are you going?” He asks, and Bart prays to every god he knows about that Kon wont pick up on the way his voice trembles. That is, until he really looks at Kon, and notices how his green–blue earth colored eyes are all fuzzy, squinting and watered with tears.
“Away, a mission. Deep space,” Kon answers before burying his head in the crook of Bart’s neck. He can't stand to let Bart see him cry. He can't– he can’t cry. He’s Superboy.
Bart wraps his arms around Kon and holds him close; it might be the last time he ever gets to do that. “How long? I mean– when did you find out? How long will you be gone?” Then, the unaskable: will you be back?
“Found out–” Kon pauses, sniffling out a cry, “night I showed up at yours.”
“When you didn’t want to talk?” Bart supplies, and Kon nods. Bart almost wants to laugh. It was– it was funeral sex . Good God.
“I’m sorry.” Kon mutters, voice warbling and breaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
`
“Don't apologize.” Bart says, even though what he really wants to do is scream. He wants to blow up– curse Kon out for using him – for leaving him . He wants to give the guy a shiner and– and push him off the silo or some shit. He wants to scream YOU'RE LEAVING ME. EVERYONE ALWAYS LEAVES, AND YOU'RE LEAVING ME.
“I don’t want to let go,” Kon whispers, in that same hushed tone as the night he found Bart falling. It's scared– he is scared.
Bart can’t let himself explode– he can't let those last few burning stars go out. All he can say is; “I’ll be here when you get back.” And he doesn’t even know if that's true.
In the end, it doesn't really turn out to be true. Kon is away for months; it's just long enough for winter to ripen into a warm summer, so that when Kon returns the fields are green and the flowers are in perfect bloom. Bart– isn’t there.
Well, he's not at the watchtower when Kon’s spaceship gets back, and he’s not by the silo or Kent farm, he's also not in the city – or, at least Wally hasn’t heard from him – and he's not in Georgia with Max either. He's just gone. Disappeared. Missing. Kon can't help but think back to that night– that terrible night– to Bart smiling up at him and –
“ Nope, don't want to die. Only sometimes; not tonight.”
His search for his not-quite-one-night-stand-/-not-quite-boyfriend spirals out of control when Kon finds himself in Clark’s home, sitting on his couch and practically damn near losing his head with terror.
It's chaos. It's broken-hearted, solar–storm chaos. Kon is tearing himself apart when–
“Kon, you have super hearing. Just listen for him. ”
It's a dumb statement. It's stupid. It's simple and it's stupid and it's brilliant and of all the people there it's Lois that suggests it.
Kon does exactly that. He listens for Bart’s hummingbird flutter of a heartbeat that comes in in whispers and pauses – little moments when there's nothing and then something – out-of-rhythm beats and electrical charges that pulse through his veins. Bart had told him once, that he was pretty sure the speedforce was the only thing keeping his heart beating; Kon had thought, at the time, that it was a joke.
The pauses and flutters and messed up rhythm was just enough for Kon to follow it. He follows it to wherever it’ll lead him – and it just so happens to be Cassie’s apartment. For some reason.
Instead of doing what he could do, which is knock on the window ignoring it is in fact 5 stories up, he actually goes inside the building. It's a shocker, he knows. To try to prepare or maybe avoid it, he sits out in the lawn and starts picking at some flowers around, praying the other people won't mind. Kon hates himself right now – he wasn’t afraid in outer space, or fighting on the brink of death or anything, but he is actually nervous to see Bart. . Maybe he’s with Cassie because something happened– maybe he can't be alone or maybe Kon broke his heart and Bart doesn’t want to see him or maybe–
Kon knocks on the door twice. There's laughter and footsteps coming from the other side of the door and then its swings open. Cassie is in front of him – she's wearing a superboy crop top and a pair of soft pajama bottoms – her hair is half-braided and her nails are still wet with glossy polish. The first thing she says is, “Hello,” and it's harsh.
Kon holds out the flowers – they are dandelions; Bart’s favorite – “Um– Hi.” he stutters out, like an idiot. From inside the apartment, Bart’s head shoots up, his hair bouncing in a ponytail on the top of his head. He's got a half done face of makeup– more like mascara running down his cheeks in tear tracks from getting poked in the eye and smeared lipstick from him telling Cassie to let him try – and he looks cute, if not a little bit of a hot mess.
“I…brought flowers?” Kon says, and Cassie's making a face like Dude. so he tries again; “I brought flowers for Bart? I– I just got back and I…I miss him. I just wanted to see how he is, I guess.” But Cassie is shoving him out into the hallway and slamming the door shut behind her. Kon has his back to the wall, literally, and Cassie is standing over him looking like she's 2.5 seconds away from snapping him like a twig.
“You broke his heart and what? You come back with– with flowers ?” She snaps, keeping her voice quiet so Bart doesn't hear.
“I didn’t–” Kon tries to argue, but he's quickly shut up with a full knuckle punch to the face. It hurts– he forgot how human he can be.
Cassie is furious, shaking with anger and rage and protectiveness and shes hissing out; “God damn it. God DAMN IT, Kon. just– get out , ok? Get out!” and she doesn’t apologize for punching him, or for his now bleeding and probably broken nose. She doesn’t even look at him as he leaves, because Kon breaking her heart was one thing, but Kon breaking her best friend’s heart is another.
When Cassie comes back inside, Bart is laid across her living room floor. The first thing she thinks to ask is; “Where did you get vodka?”
“When you were yelling at Kon,” he answers, looking up at the ceiling and wishing it was the night sky. Wishing the bottle of vodka sitting next to him was some soda or snacks, and Kon was there and everything was all right.
“I punched him. Also, give me that.” Cassie grabs the bottle and goes to look for the top. It sloshes around, half empty. Frankly, Cassie isnt sure if speedsters and their metabolisms can even get drunk off normal achohol, and even if they could why Bart would choose fucking vodka.
“I fucking hate Mr. Big.” Bart comments. Ah, she forgot Sex and the City was playing in the background.
“He's a dick. He always reminded me of Kon. Why do you say?” she asks, and Bart is sitting up in an instant, crying and gesturing at the tv–
"HE LEFT HER. HE JUST LEFT HER." Bart yells and– yeah, vodka definitely works on speedsters.
She decides the best course of action is to change the subject. “Want me to finish doing your hair?” she asks, and Bart is nodding, ponytail half falling out.
“C’mere” she directs, sitting on the floor and pulling Bart into her lap.
"I don't want him to leave," Bart mumbles, crying and looking out the window. Cassie knows, deep down, that Bart is not talking about Mr. Big.
"Bart, Sweetie, you're drunk." Cassie coos, running her fingers through Bart's hair in a calming manner.
"I miss him, '' Bart babbles out, "I miss him so much, so so much, Cassie. I can't live without him, I can't! He's– he's my everything . I'm going to die without him. I'm going to lay down and die."
"No you're not," and Cassie is instinctively pulling him into a tight hug– really more of a loose safety restraint than anything.
“I will! I will!” Bart wiggles around, trying to get out of Cassie's hold when– genius idea– he bites her arm. It shocks her just enough that she lets go for a second, and Bart is running out the apartment, swiping the bottle of vodka as he goes.
As he runs– normal human speed because he's trying to slow himself to not too-quickly lose the buzz– Bart is yelling out, “KON. KON WAIT.”
Kon is only a few feet ahead of him, turning back to meet eyes and– slam. Bart’s entire body collides with his own, the two falling into the grass lawn and a bottle of liquor dropping with a shatter.
Bart is kissing him, all tongue and tears and Kon just holds him close, wraps his arms around him and kisses him. His lip is still bleeding and Bart tastes like vodka– it's all messy and bad but it's them. It's them– and that's what matters.
That night, they dont fuck or get high or even go home. They just lay in the lawn of Cassie’s apartment complex and sleep until the sun comes up and the automated sprinklers come on. When they wake up, their clothes are soaked through and someones yelling at them to get off their lawn.
They grab each other by the hand and run into the morning light– to a better tomorrow or at least a gas station where they can get shitty breakfast and dry clothes.
“How was the trip?” Bart asks, pulling Kon into some corner coffee shop he sees. He watches as Kon hesitates slightly, rocks onto his heels, then says:
“You wanna grab us brekkie? I need a smoke.”
Oh.
Bart hesitates, because Kon is already directing his attention to the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and he’s not even noticing that Bart is still holding his hand. He wants to ask how long he was away, if he got hurt, if he missed Bart, but the only question Kon seems to answer is; “I’ll take a black coffee.”
Kons never drank his coffee black before.
He's also never smoked cigarettes.
Kon sits down inside after a cigarette and some early morning silence to a table that Bart is sitting in. There's two coffees at the table, and a yogurt parfait to share. Bart is across from him and in the morning light, he looks different.
His once brilliantly blinding golden eyes seem dull, with grayish purple bags weighing him down. His shoulders sag and there's crisscrossing scars across his arms that weren't there before. Kon lingers on it for a moment – seemingly a moment too long – and Bart is pulling his arm away and sitting back.
"Superhero stuff." He replies quickly, looking away from the man across from him and instead out the window to watch people travel about the city.
"Bart," Kon stars. He reaches forward and holds the other's hand. "How have you been?"
"Busy." Bart replies, voice dragging on dull or frustratingly nonchalant.
Kon clears his throat, trying to get the other's attention. "Sorry about last night. I was just…worried. You know, none of the others know where you are."
"Yeah,” Bart sighs, his shoulders sagging down. “I’ve been staying with Cassie a lot.”
Kon pauses, because he isn’t sure what to say.
“You were gone for six months.” Bart hesitates “I…I felt lost for a while.”
“I'm back, though.” Kon squeezes his hand. “I'm here.”
Bart……he doesn’t know what to say. Kon is right there. He's so close. He could be right there, in Kon’s arms. He wants that more than anything, but he can’t have it. Kon’s heart is like a burning star, bright and loving and uninhabitable.
“I’m sorry I had to leave, you know I–” Kon says, but Bart puts his hand up and sighs.
“You’re Superboy. I get it. Don't apologize.” Bart shrugs. He just seems to deflate. Like all the energy Bart has was siphoned out of him.
“Let me finish.” Kon’s voice had a bite to it– a growl, sharp and unnerving and so unlike him. It makes Bart’s skin crawl.
Kon takes a deep breath.“I didn’t want to go. Clark, you know? But I just…I don’t like being Superboy. I like being Kon. I like Kon and Bart – constellations. I want that .”
“What about what I want?” Bart asks, voice trembling.
“What do you want?” Kon asks, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Bart’s. The speedsters heart stutters for just a second, his voice drying in his throat. He wants Kon. He wants Kon so much it makes him feel like he's dying.
“... Bart? ” Kon whispers, breathless. The whole world hangs in the balance. It's just them in this empty college town coffee house. Floating in the ether.
“I want…” a pause.
Bart leans forward and, for the first time in months, they kiss. It's warm and unsure and…perfect. It makes everything else melt away.
“I want to make this work,” Bart whispers, finally.
Two weeks later they have their proper first date. It's a drive in movie with shitty popcorn and junk food. Bart and Kon sit in the back of the Kent’s truck, wrapped in blankets with a speaker next to them. The movie is some old sci fi flick, and they both make fun of it the entire time. It's the most fun Bart’s had in years.
The next date is to an arcade in Central. The night ends with Bart’s back hitting his mattress and Kon climbing on top of him.
“Are we–” Bart pants out, reaching forward and pulling onto his shirt. Kon looks down at him, smiling and cheeks flushed.
“Can we?” He asks, unsure.
Bart studies Kon’s face for a moment. He looks gorgeous – lips kiss-swollen and cheeks bright red. “You have to promise not to break my heart again,” he says finally.
“Bart–” Kon laughs, all tight in his chest. Bart sits up, shoves Kon off him, and puts his hands up,
“I can’t. I can’t until you promise you wont just– fuck me and leave. Promise me you’re not going to leave again.”
Kon gives him this look. It's completely unreadable, with raised eyebrows and pouting lips. Bart watches, frozen, trembling. Kons adam's apple bobs in his throat.
“Bart… starshine ….” Kon hesitates, mouth agape and trying to find the words. He leans forward, kisses his forehead with insecurity. Gentleness. For a long time, he just holds Bart close.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Kon knows it's not enough. It will never be enough. Nothing he can ever do will make up for what he’s done.
They go to sleep after that. There's no more passion. The flames have died down into a soft boil. Warm and gentle and in eachothers arms, they sleep.
The morning is kind to them. The sun rises slowly, warming the room in a soft glow. Bart wakes slowly, golden eyes just cracking open to see the sun peeking through his curtains. Kon is next to him, holding him in his arms. Bart feels warm inside – but it's different. It's not burning, or fire, or sunburn. It's…warm. Like the warmth of a cup of tea, or clothes straight from the dryer, or fresh cookies still cooling. This warmth pulls at his consciousness, letting him slip into a soft sleep, once more.
When Kon wakes up, the sun is high. It's midmorning – maybe early afternoon. There's a knock at the door, grating and repetitive. Kon is careful to slowly climb out of bed, to not wake Bart. He opens the bedroom door with a yawn, just to meet a red-faced Wally.
“What the fuck.” Wally mutters, scaning over the Not Bart Person in Bart’s room. Kon is shirtless, pantsless, and missing a singular sock. His hair is a complete and utter bed-head mess.
“Hi….Wally…?” Kon gives an awkward smile. Wally just sighs and takes a long sip of coffee – from a bright red WORDS #2 FLASH mug that Bart had given him as a gag gift.
Wally mumbles, “Breakfast's ready,” under his breath then walks away, holding onto that coffee mug like a lifeline.
“What was that about?” Bart asks, voice quiet and slurred with sleep. He's half sitting up in bed – Kon’s shirt spilling off his shoulder to reveal his freckled skin underneath and wild, sleep-worn hair. He blinks slowly, whole body stretching as he yawns. It reminds Kon of a cat, in a way.
“You’re cute,” Kon says, warmly. He crawls back in bed and scoops Bart up in his arms. Bart giggles and nuzzles into Kon’s chest.
“You’re warm.” He mumbles, a smile cracking and blush simmering under his skin. He wants to stay like this for as long as he can – in Kon’s arms, warm and safe. Happy, too. Really, actually happy.
Kon places a gentle kiss on Bart’s freckled forehead. “Wanna go get breakfast?”
Bart hums quietly. “W’as for brekkie?” he yawns again.
“I dunno. I could go for a coffee?” Kon suggests. Bart makes a face, quinting and lips pursed.
“Coffee makes my heart feel weird.”
Kon nods, understandingly. “Do you want hot cocoa? We can run down to the bakery next door.”
Bart hums again. He nods slowly. “Let's make Wally go get it?”
“Alright, that sounds good,” he smiles. Kon goes to get up, and Bart is already slinking back in the sheets to go back to sleep.
By the time Kon comes home with breakfast – Wally had already left for work before he could get the speedster to go – Bart is sat up in bed on his phone. Although, sat up isn't really the right term. Hes hunched over like some sort of shrimp, hands trembling in his lap, eyes frozen on the glowing screen. From his phone, electronic music is playing.
“Say I’m the best but now that you’re my prince from high above. Can’t you see me or look my way? My hand is cold and far away. Say you’re the best but living as a cold prince blind to love.”
Kon grins, and laughs to himself. He takes a sip of his coffee. “I have–”
“SHHHHHH. FOCUSING. FOCUS MODE.” Bart snaps. His fingers move so fast they're practically a blur – the video game on his phone showing a current 1002 note streak. When the song ends, he finally looks up. His eyes are bright and he's grinning ear to ear.
“You…beat the song?” Kon asks. He doesn’t know a lot about the games Bart plays on his phone, but apparently he’s been obsessed with this rhythm game for months, thanks to Cassie.
“I full combo’d it” Bart giggles.
Kon raises his eyebrow. “That's…better?” he asks. Bart reaches out for his hot chocolate.
“Yes! I have officially beat every single song in the game.” Bart explains, grabbing the drink and taking a sip.
“That's really cool,” Kon ruffles his hair. “I'm proud of you, gamer boy.” Bart practically beams. He's just so.. bright. Its like Kon needs his sunglasses to take in the smiling boy.
“Hey. Hey,” Bart bounces on the bed. “What if– what if– what if I was your gamer boy?”
Kon sits down next to him and wraps an arm around the smaller boy, pulling him close. “You already are, Impy”
Bart bounces back and forth again, rocking against the bed. He plays with the hem of his shirt. Looks down. “No– I mean–” He’s bright red. Awkward.
“Hey, c’mre, look at me,” Kon says in a hushed tone. Bart continues to fidget nervously.
“Forget I said anything,” he mumbles, instead. He switches from fiddling with his shirt to cracking his knuckles.
Kon hesitates for a long time. He takes a slow sip of coffee. “Can I smoke in here?”
Bart doesn’t say anything. He looks away. Neither of them mention the questions hanging in the air.
Finally, Bart brings himself to say; “I don't like that you smoke cigarettes.”
Kon nods. “Alright, then,” he says, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the half empty pack of cigarettes. He throws it into the trashcan on the other end of the room.
Bart watches with wide eyes. “You…you just..”
Kon shrugs. “You don’t like it. We’re both…trying to make this work, right? So, you know, what's one bad habit in exchange for a great boyfriend?”
Bart almost jumps at the words. His face is flushed bright, covering up his freckles in spots of red and pink. “I…we’re– I mean–?”
Kon takes a slow breath. "I mean…if you don't want to-" and Bart is kissing him. He tastes sweet, like whipped cream. Hot chocolate.
Bart smiles in the kiss, laughs a little. “Boyfriends, huh?”
Kon wraps his arms around Bart and pulls him close. He kisses the boy’s forehead. “Yeah.”
To say things change a lot after that would be a lie. They go on dates, and have afterdate cuddles, and spend as much time together as they can. They work things out, talk things out. It's all going well.
Tonight, the boys are currently in the kitchen of Kent Farm. Ma and Pa are out on a trip, and Kon’s happily lounging on the kitchen island. Bart is wrapped in a thick flannel – it's actually his own, surprisingly – with socked feet and shorts on. August’s chilled nights seep into the house as they stand by the stove.
“Hey, watch this!” Bart calls out, running forward and sliding on the tiled floors of the kitchen, landing perfectly in front of the sink. He fills a measuring cup with water, then slides back over to the stove. Kon watches with a smile as he slowly sturs a bubbling sauce. It was his idea for them to stay in and make dinner.
Krypto is at Kon’s feet, looking up at him with a beggar's face as Kon starts putting the chopped sausage in the sauce.
“He looks so sad! ” Bart announces, gesturing to the puppy. “Give him some sausage!”
Kon laughs at Bart’s almost perfect replication of the dogs begging face. “No, I cant! It’ll give him a stomach ache.”
Bart pouts and pets Krypto’s head. “It's ok, buddy. Kon’s just being mean.” He huffs, scratching behind the dog's ears. Kyrptos tail wags against the floor with a content thump, thump, thump.
“I am not being mean!” Kon giggles. “You’re babying him!”
Bart ignores him, too busy climbing on the floor to rub the dog's belly. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You are! Yes you are yes you are! ” He grins, baby talking to the dog.
Kon turns to the boiling water with a smile. Foam is rising at the top; “Bart, your pastas overboiling”
“Who's a good–” Bart looks up at Kon, then the pasta. “-oh, just turn the heat down.” He says, before going back to playing with the dog. Kon turns the heat down with a huff. Then, he walks over to the corner of the room and switches on the radio. Quiet music plays. Kon smiles, and begins singing along.
He doesn't have a perfect voice– but when he sings, it captivates Bart. It's quiet and low and warm and…it's beautiful. Even if Kon doesn’t think so.
Kyrpto gets up, tail wagging in quick whips. He barks out, jumping up and nipping at Kon. Kon giggles and grabs Krypto by the paws, holding him up. The dog howls along with Kon’s singing, and the two do a sort of awkward dance.
“When are you going to come down? When are you going to land? I should have stayed on my farm. I should have listened to my old man!”
Bart laughs and pulls out his phone. He starts to record the idiots in front of him. His heart flutters in his chest, all warm and gentle.
“You know you can't hold me forever! I didn’t sign up with you. I'm not a present for your friends to open! This boys too young to be singin’ the blues.”
The room erupts into a mess of howls and loud vocalizing. Kyrpto jumps up and down, singing along happily. Kon giggles and grabs onto Bart’s hand pulling him into a dance. They both sing along –
“So goodbye yellow brick road where the dogs of society howl. You can’t plant me in your penthouse. I'm going back to my plough, back to the howlin’ old owl in the woods, huntin’ the horny-back toads. Oh, I’ve finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow br–”
Bart interrupts the singing with a shout of, “PASTA!” the water boiling well over, and spilling onto the stove.
Kon erupts into a gruff laugh. “Oh my god!” he cries out, grabbing the pot and lifting it up. The boiling water doesn't burn his hands – thank god for invulnerability. Meanwhile, Bart grabs some hand tools and puts them down where the water spills.
That night, their pasta is practically mush, but the sauce is good. Bart sends the photo of Kon and Kypto’s duet to the Young Justice group chat. The chat explodes with messages. Cassie posts the video to her Wonder Girl twitter – proclaiming that Krypto the Superdog is in fact the bestest boy. The tweet blows up in moments, trending site wide.
“Oh my god,” Kon gasps, looking at his phone. He’s sitting on the couch, cuddling with Bart. Their dishes are washed, cleaned, and put up. He shows his phone to Bart.
Bart looks at the screen dumbfoundedly. “Did Elton fucking John just tweet at you?” He asks in amazement. Kon is grinning ear to ear.
“This is the coolest moment of my life, actually. This is amazing. This –” Kon laughs, giddily. “Oh my god.”
Bart kisses his cheek. “I love you,” he says, because he means it. He really does. Kon looks like he's glowing, happy and at peace and– Bart loves him. It's a warm sort of love, gentle. Like water at a rolling boil.
Kon turns to him, eye to eye. His eyes– perfectly round earth–colored and glowing– shine with wonder. “I love you” he replies, voice hushed, like he was praying. He smiles, buries his head in Bart’s neck. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
Bart laughs, Kon’s warm breath tickling his neck. “Hey,” he points at the piano in the corner, next to the tv, “Who plays that?”
Kon sits up and looks at it. “Oh, Ma does. Apparently Clark does, too, but I’ve never seen him play.” Bart looks up at him with a dumb grin. Kon knows what he’s thinking.
“Shut up. I’m normal about the music I like.” Kon retorts, rolling his eyes. But Bart keeps up that mischievous grin, and Kon is getting up, walking over to the piano.
“I hate you,” He pouts.
Bart just laughs “I didn’t even say anything!”
Kon sits down at the piano bench and opens the top. He runs his hands over the keys, carefully. He can see Bart pull out his phone. He takes a deep breath, and begins to play. He's rusty at it, but the notes come out warm and tonal.
He can see Bart’s face change a little bit. Soften, maybe, as he begins to sing – “Love of my life, you’ve hurt me, you’ve broken my heart and now you leave me. Love of my life, can’t you see?”
Bart’s breathing is hushed as he puts down his phone and just listens. Krypto rests his head on Bart’s leg, and watches his owner sing.
“ Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me because you don't know what it means to me.”
Bart doesn’t sing well. He’s not talented, his voice is scratchy and awkward, especially compared to Kon’s own. So, he stands up, walking over to Kon and leaning his head on Kon’s shoulder. Kon’s singing reverberates through his chest, warm and low and comforting. He lets himself feel it, all that warmth. “ Love of my life, don’t leave me. You’ve taken my love, and now desert me. Love of my life, can’t you see? ”
Kon leans back, craning his neck so he can look at Bart. His hands fall unmoving, his mouth still perched open with baited breath, just looking at Bart.
“Hi…” Bart smiles a little.
And, finally, Kon leans forward and kisses him. Hands cup his cheeks and hold him and its all so much.
It's warm.
It's pure sunlight.