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The nice thing about the Clocktower is it was an easy place to hide away and sulk.
Not that that’s what Jon is doing. He’s thinking. Pondering, even. Doing a little experiment while he’s at it. It hasn’t been successful—no matter how much Jon glares at the flowers on his arm they don’t vanish. Which is rude.
“Hey, uh. Jon?” Dick says. His appearance doesn’t startle Jon because he’s generally aware of when any of the Bats are near him (self-preservation, at this point), but he can’t quite drag his attention away to greet him properly.
“Yeah?” Jon manages. He doesn’t know what kind of flowers they are, that was more Tim or, or Damian’s thing. But he can’t help thinking about the memories they evoke. Like–like Damian’s eyes, the tint they took on wherever he looked at something he cared about. The way the looked in the purple-pink haze of summer dusk. The pleased gleam whenever he and Jon pulled off a new maneuver with roaring success. Jon presses his thumb down on the cluster near his wrist, resting right over his pulse. They almost look like they were pulled from the oil paintings Damian likes at the Gotham art center. Jon keeps expecting them to have some kind of texture, but they don’t, and if it weren’t for the way they gently swayed Jon could have convinced himself he woke up with a new normal tattoo.
Ugh.
Jon has other things to be doing, honestly! Chores at the farm, for instance. But nah, here he is in this spiderweb stuffed corner, thinking . ( I wasn’t aware you were capable of such a thing, he can practically hear Damian snark.)
Boots thump against the floor as Dick joins him at his thinking corner. His eyes are all furrowed, like Jon is something to worry about. Ha. Ha ha. Ha. That’s a good one. Dick’s eyebrow arches when he catches sight of Jon’s arm, because Jon is an idiot and forgot to consider a fantastic invention called full-arm sleeves.
“Those are nice,” Dick says, nodding his head towards the flowers.
Jon slumps forward. “No,” he groans, “they’re the worst.”
Dick arches an eyebrow that is definitely judgy.
Jon flaps a hand towards Dick’s face. “Damian’s better at that. Definitely has made grown men cry. He’s probably great in board meetings, isn’t he?”
Dick snorts, then slips back to concern. “Why are you upset about the flowers, Jon?”
Jon shrugs stiffly instead of answering.
Dick sighs his why-am-I-the-rational-one-right-now (clearly copied from Barbara). “Does it have anything to do with why your other half isn’t here with you?”
Jon forces himself to sit up, dredging up half of a pathetic, sad smile. “Maybe,” he admits. Then, quietly, “I’m not in love with Damian.”
“Ok?” Dick’s voice lilted, like he was confused. “That’s fine? Jon, did someone tell you that’s not fine?”
Jon gestures helplessly towards his garden-arm. “These—say otherwise,” he mutters.
Dick breathes out a laugh. “No they don’t, actually,” he says, weirdly chipper.
Jon peers at him. Dick smiles back at him, all genuine, “You young folk,” he says, smile widening when Jon scoffs, “it’s just about feeling, not just the romantic ones.”
Jon blinks at him. “It’s—what.”
Dick rolls back his cuff, where Jon catches sight of tiny bright blue flowers circling his wrist like a bracelet. “These popped up when I realized I wanted to know Wally ‘till I died.” Dick shrugs, like, like it was just that easy. “It doesn’t mean anything you don’t want it to mean, Jon,” he says, almost gently.
Jon presses his thumb against a petal near his elbow. It was the color of one of Damian’s favorite paints, the one he found any reason to use, no matter the subject of his art. Jon could picture the way his eyes narrowed in concentration, the way his fingers held his pens and brushes with so much care.
Something in his chest…eases.
“Thanks, Dick,” he says, and his voice doesn’t break, thank you very much.
“No problem.” And with a single pat on the top of Jon’s head. Dick is off to bother someone else hiding a different corner, most likely.
Jon sucks in a breath, reaching for his bag for his beat up phone that Damian keeps offering (threatening, really. It was weirdly adorable) to replace.
can I come bother u? he sends.
A response comes in just a few seconds, and Jon feels something warm in his chest at the fact that he’s one of the few people Damian bothers with prompt texting for. I am taking Titus and Ace for a walk. Join me?
idk i haven’t submitted the ten billion page form to ur dad requesting entry to gotham. :p
As if you aren’t at the Clocktower right now. Are you joining me or not?
Jon grins, typing out: u only want me for my ability to keep hold of your fur children’s leashes huh??????? i see i see.
Well it certainly isn’t for your wealth.
RUDE
Are you joining us?
omw :)
When Jon exits through a window into Gotham’s sky he’s still smiling.