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February starts as cold and relentless, ice carving itself deep into the cracks of the pavement, creeping into the marrow, clinging to breath. Tim’s felt it in his ribs, had it lodged into the latch of his temples, curled in the hinge of his jaw. But he’s learned to live with it. The cold no longer sinks its teeth the way it used to, doesn’t make him shiver in as much, doesn’t make his fingers curl for the warmth that isn’t there.
But tonight is different. Tonight, they aren’t moving fast enough for the exertion to chase it away.
They’re walking. Leisurely. On purpose.
No crazy rooftop sprints, no crashing through the windows, no cape curling around his arms. Just them walking shoulder to shoulder, slow, unhurried, unnatural. Next to him, Jason walks like he has nowhere to be, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders loose beneath the weight of his jacket. Tim walks like he doesn’t know how.
His movements are clipped, careful, every step too measured, too aware. He doesn’t like the way his body reacts to the wind, the way tension coils at the base of his spine, the way his breath comes tight and thin as if he’s waiting for something to happen, for someone to phone them and call their date off.
Date.
Their first date.
A few days ago, Jason had shown up out of nowhere and asked him out. On Valentine’s Day, if that wasn’t cheesy enough. And of course, Tim said yes. He’s been waiting, actually, though he’d never have admitted it. Never let himself hope for it, not really.
His fingers flex at his sides, useless. His shoulders curl inward, unconsciously bracing against the cold, or maybe the embarrassment.
Jason notices. Of course, he notices.
Tim feels the weight of his gaze, how he's considering something. Jason has always been good at watching him, at taking apart the things Tim doesn’t mean to give away.
“You good there?” Jason’s voice breaks the silence, amusement threading through like a hook, waiting for Tim to bite.
Tim flicks his eyes up to him, unimpressed.
“Perfectly fine, Jay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The answer doesn't come, though, Jason just tilts his head slightly, the infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tim scowls, shifting his weight. He doesn’t like whatever game Jason is playing because he already knows he’s lost.
Fuck February. Fuck winter. Fuck Valentine's Day, Tim decides.
He's freezing, his jaw shivers from cold, his nose feels like it's about to fall right off. There are definitely more pleasant ways to die than hypotermia.
And of course, Jason notices that, too.
Jason exhales, long-suffering, and unwinds the scarf from his neck. Tim watches, brows drawn in faint confusion, but doesn’t step back when Jason reaches for him.
The wool is warm as it drapes over his shoulders, catching at the nape of his neck. The fabric smells like Jason, gunpowder and cheap soap, a faint trace of leather. Jason doesn’t just toss it at him and call it a day. He adjusts it, pulls the ends snug, his fingers brushing against Tim’s jaw as he lingers just a second too long.
Tim stills.
His breath catches, sticks sharp in his throat.
By the time Jason steps back, Tim is already bundled up warm and comfortable, cocooned in a way that makes him feel embarrassingly taken care of. He tilts his head, then smiles with a fondness Tim isn’t used to just yet.
“There. Now you won’t freeze to death like a dumbass.”
Tim blinks, dazed, then tugs the scarf higher over his mouth to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks.
“I wasn’t that cold.” The words are muffled, petulant.
Jason grins, but doesn’t call him on his little lie. He just shoves his hands back into his pockets and keeps walking, and Tim, Tim follows.
They fall into step easily, the streets busy around them, neon flashing in the puddles of melted snow, the traffic, the crowds. Tim chances a glance at Jason, quick and furtive, then looks away just as fast.
Jason is still watching when Tim risks another look.
Their eyes meet, and Tim feels the weight of it settle deep in his chest, something quiet and warm curling beneath his ribs. His breath hitches. He swallows hard and flicks his gaze away, too fast, too obvious.
Jason exhales a quiet laugh, low and intentional.
Tim keeps walking, his fingers curled in the scarf, holding onto the warmth.
He doesn’t know what to do with this, with the quiet, with the way his heart stutters like it’s trying to match pace with Jason’s. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that Jason’s presence doesn’t just mean safety, or peace, or family. It means warmth. It means love.
Suddenly, they stop, just in front of an outdoor ice skating rink.
Jason watches Tim watch the rink, unimpressed, skeptical in that sharp, familiar way. The lights stringing the railings bathe everything in soft blue, reflecting against the ice, turning it into something delicate, something fleeting. A postcard moment, a Hallmark memory. Tim’s expression doesn’t shift, but Jason knows him too well to miss the way his gaze lingers.
“This is it?” Tim deadpans, eyes flat. “That’s our first date idea? We could’ve blown something up instead, Jay. Like, there's a new lead in this case with chemical–”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever" Jason cuts him off. "No work talk tonight, Timmy. We’re doing this the normal way. This whole... dating stuff. Civilian stuff. Y’know, fun.” He cracks a laugh, amused.
Tim’s stare slides from the ice to Jason’s face, doubtful.
“Your definition of fun is questionable.”
“What, scared you’ll fall on your ass?” Jason grins, bumping their shoulders together.
“I’ll be fine.” Tim’s eyes narrow, mouth pressing into a thin line.
“Oh, I know. You’re good at everything. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be there to catch you.” Jason leans in just slightly, voice dipping, teasing.
Tim turns away fast, shoving his hands into his coat like that’ll hide anything. Jason doesn’t say anything else, but he probably catches the way Tim swallows hard, catches the way his ears flush pink even when they're finally guarded from the wind.
Jason lets it sit between them for a second before clapping a hand on Tim’s shoulder and steering them toward the rental booth.
“C’mon, love. Let’s get you some skates.”
Tim stops himself from shoving Jason into a nearby snowbank. It’s progress.
At the rental booth, Jason hands over their shoe sizes without asking. It’s a small thing, insignificant to anyone else, but it sticks with Tim all the same. Jason knows. Of course, he does. He always knows. Tim looks down at the skates being passed to him, flexes his fingers against the worn leather. It’s nothing. Just a detail Jason happened to remember. And yet, warmth curls in his chest anyway, strange yet completely welcome.
“You good, or are you mentally calculating the odds of me busting my ass out there?” Jason nudges him.
“I’d be a fool not to.”
“I won’t let you fall, you know.”
Tim swallows. His grip tightens slightly around the skates, and he tells himself it’s just the cold making his fingers feel stiff. Just the cold making his face feel warm.
They reach the benches, and Tim sits down, pulling off his shoes. Jason makes it look easy whole he's puting on his skates, while Tim wonders how to do it properly. He’s bracing himself for the struggle of lacing up skates when Jason drops into a crouch in front of him.
“What are you doing?” Tim blinks.
“What’s it look like? You ever worn these before?” Jason rolls his eyes.
Tim hesitates.
“No.”
Jason smirks like he already knew the answer, then tugs one of the skates out of Tim’s grasp. “Exactly. You’ll cut off your own circulation trying to lace them too tight.” He gestures with his chin. “Gimme your foot.”
Tim considers arguing, considers telling him he’s perfectly capable of tying his own damn skates, but Jason is already tugging off his shoe with careful hands, fingers brushing against Tim’s ankle as he pulls the skate on. Tim stiffens. The touch isn’t even intentional, isn’t anything at all, but it sends something burning hot flickering up his spine.
Jason glances up, one brow raised like he’s noticing something. If he is, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes his time threading the laces, pulling them snug.
“Gotta keep them tight enough so you don’t snap your ankle,” he explains, voice lighter now, distracted. “But not so tight your feet go numb.”
Tim watches the movement of Jason’s hands, strong and sure. He should be thinking about the mechanics of it, about the logic behind the tension in the laces, but he isn’t. Instead, he’s thinking about how Jason’s, ever the terrifying vigilante, is kneeling on cold concrete, focused on something as mundane as tying Tim’s skates.
Tim exhales slowly.
“There. Now the other.” Jason finishes the first one with a sharp tug and a double knot before nodding in satisfaction.
Tim doesn’t say anything as Jason repeats the process, but his throat feels tight for some reason he can’t explain.
When Jason finishes, he pats Tim’s knee with a grin. “Alright, babe. Ready to hit the ice?”
Tim lets out a breathless laugh.
“If I say no, will you let me leave?”
Jason stands, offering a hand. “Not a chance.”
Tim looks at Jason’s outstretched hand, then up at his face, bright-eyed, amused, warm in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.
Tim sighs but takes Jason’s hand anyway, lets himself be pulled to his feet.
Jason’s fingers squeeze his just briefly before letting go.
Tim, for once, finds himself missing the warmth when it’s gone.
Tim has faced gunfire, explosions, and villains with god complexes. He’s fought against impossible odds with nothing but sheer willpower and a well-calculated plan. None of that compares to the immediate sense of doom that settles in his chest the moment his skates hit the ice.
The thing is, Tim isn’t completely awful. He understands the mechanics of skating. His body, trained for balance and efficiency, should translate that skill easily onto ice.
But fake ice isn’t the same as rooftop edges and city scaffolding. It’s not unpredictable, treacherous in ways that make him feel strangely human. It doesn’t demand his full attention, doesn’t sharpen his senses the way a real fall would. Maybe, that's why it's so dangerous, indeed.
The ground beneath him is traitorous, thin, slick, and he's not sure how people even enjoy it. He shifts his weight experimentally, testing his balance, but his body doesn’t trust it. He can feel the way the blade wobbles under him, the way the ice offers no real support.
Jason, already gliding forward with ease, turns back at the first sign of hesitation. His grin is slow, teasing.
“Huh,” he muses, skating a lazy circle around Tim. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hesitate before.”
Tim glares. “I’m assessing the situation.”
Jason’s laughter is bright, warm against the cold night air. “Sure you are.” Then he stops just in front of Tim and offers a hand, palm up, easy. “C’mon. Hold my hand.”
Tim recoils like Jason just asked him to hold a live grenade.
“No.”
Jason raises a brow.
“No?”
“I don’t need to hold your hand, Jason.”
“You sure about that?” Jason tilts his head, his expression settling into something unreadable. His gaze flicks down to Tim’s unsteady footing, then back up to his face.
Tim’s jaw tightens. His pulse is already betraying him, already reacting to the proximity, the quiet expectation in Jason’s voice. But he doesn’t take the bait. “Yes.”
Jason watches him for a beat longer, gaze searching, before he lets his hand drop. He doesn’t push. He never does, not with things like this. Instead, he takes a step back, skating smoothly, looking as natural on the ice as he does in a fight.
Tim watches, irritated at how effortless he looks. Jason moves like he belongs here, like the cold doesn’t even touch him.
“Suit yourself,” Jason says lightly. “Just don’t expect me to catch you when–”
Tim moves.
He pushes forward, determined, and for a second, he thinks he’s got it. But then his weight shifts just a little too much to one side, and the world tilts.
There’s no time to stop it. No time to adjust. One second he’s standing, and the next–
Tim yelps as the ice rushes up to meet him.
But Jason is there before he even fully processes the fall.
A hand grips his wrist, firm but not rough, the other steadying his waist. The impact never comes, Jason catches him, pulls him upright with practiced ease. The sudden stop jolts them both, and for one disorienting moment, they’re too close, Jason’s breath warm against Tim’s cheek, their bodies nearly flush together.
Tim’s heart slams against his ribs.
Jason exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath too, and steadies Tim by fully curling his fingers around his hand. Their palms fit together with an unnerving sense of rightness, like puzzle pieces locking into place.
Tim swallows. He can feel the calluses on Jason’s fingers, the rough edges from years of fights, of holding weapons, of knowing nothing but violence. But here, now, Jason’s hands are careful. Steady. Strong in a way that has nothing to do with violence and everything to do with care.
“I told you I’d catch you,” Jason whispers, voice softer than before.
Tim looks up at him, a thousand thoughts catching in his throat.
"Guess you owe me one now, huh?”
“Shut up.” Tim exhales sharply, trying to steady himself, but Jason’s hands are still on him, still keeping him upright, and he’s not sure if his balance is any better than before.
“Besides, we’re on a date. It’s only logical we hold hands, no?”
“People are watching, Jay. It’s embarrassing,” Tim grumbles, aware of the curious looks people are sending their way, either whispering about seeing two men holding hands, or recognizing Tim as a Wayne.
Jason chuckles, but he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, his fingers shift, slotting more comfortably between Tim’s.
Tim knows Jason’s hands. Knows how much damage they’re capable of, knows the weight of them in a fight, the bruises they leave behind. But right now, Jason’s hands are warm, gentle, laced with something quieter than either of them knows it's too soon to name.
Tim exhales, something in his chest loosening.
“C’mon, babe. Let’s try this again.” Jason shifts, pressing their fingers together just slightly.
Tim doesn’t resist when Jason laces their fingers together.
They skate for one full minute.
And then, because the universe is cruel, and Jason is an agent of the devil, he squeezes his hand suddenly and pulls him forward – just enough to throw off his focus.
Tim startles, his balance faltering for half a second. His body reacts on instinct, fingers tightening, weight shifting forward to catch himself – but it’s too late. His skate catches awkwardly against the ice, the motion throwing him off center, and in the space of a single breath, he knows he’s going down again.
Jason moves fast. He always does. His free hand snaps up to steady Tim’s waist, his grip sure and solid. But the problem is momentum.
Tim’s full weight collides into him, and Jason barely has time to adjust before his own footing slips. For one long, slow-motion second, they’re both just falling.
The impact never comes. Not the way Tim expects.
Instead, warmth.
Not ice. Jason.
Tim lands against something solid, the fall cushioned by layers of denim and muscle. A startled oof escapes Jason as Tim crashes on top of him, their bodies tangling together in a mess of limbs and winter coats. Tim barely gets his bearings before he realizes exactly where he’s landed.
Too close. Way too close.
Jason’s hands are still firm at his waist, his body steady beneath him. Their noses brush, and–
Oh.
Tim goes utterly still.
Because their lips. Their lips are–
The world narrows down to this. To the faint press of Jason’s mouth against his, barely a touch but undeniably there, unmoving but not retreating. A fraction of an inch separates them, the warmth of Jason’s breath curling between them like a slow-burning fuse.
Tim forgets how to breathe.
Jason inhales sharply – a surprised sound that might be a laugh if his voice weren’t suddenly strained. His grip tightens, just for a second, just a flicker of hesitation, before he exhales a single, shaky word against Tim’s lips.
“…Wow.”
The spell shatters.
Tim makes a strangled noise and shoves himself upright, scrambling off Jason like he’s been burned. His face is on fire, his pulse a traitor, and he’s absolutely not thinking about the way Jason’s mouth was warm even in the burning cold.
Jason, still sprawled on the ice, blinks up at him. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spreads across his face.
“If you wanted to kiss me,” Jason drawls, voice dipped in smug amusement, “you could’ve just asked.”
Tim looks five seconds away from murder.
“Shut up.”
Jason’s grin widens.
Tim refuses to look at him. He focuses on adjusting his sleeves, on brushing nonexistent ice shavings off his knees, on anything that isn’t Jason’s stupid, smug face. The cold should be enough to kill the heat burning beneath his skin, but it lingers stubbornly, curling in his stomach, in the ghost of where Jason’s hands had steadied him, where Jason’s lips had–
Nope. Not thinking about that.
Jason, of course, is still grinning like Tim just handed him the best joke of the century. He finally hauls himself off the ice, brushing the snow from his jacket. “Gotta say, not how I pictured our first kiss going, but hey–”
“That wasn’t our first kiss.” Tim’s head snaps up so fast it nearly gives him whiplash.
“Uh. It wasn’t?” Jason blinks, caught off guard.
Tim crosses his arms, expression fierce despite the blush creeping up his ears.
“It doesn’t count. It was terrible,” he simply states.
Jason stares at him for half a beat. Then, slowly, his grin shifts, losing the teasing edge, softening into something quieter. His eyes flicker over Tim’s face, searching, and then his smile turns knowing.
He gets closer.
Tim, stubborn as ever, doesn’t move.
“So… you’re saying we need a redo?” Jason hums, tilting his head.
“Obviously,” Tim huffs.
Jason chuckles, quiet and pleased, like he likes where this is going. “Alright, baby.” His voice dips, lower, steadier. “Let’s do it right, then.”
Tim barely has a second to process the way Jason is suddenly right there, close enough that their breath curls together in the cold. And then, warmth, the same one, again.
Jason kisses him slow, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to get it right. His lips are soft, and the way his hands settle at Tim’s cheeks, gentle, steady, makes something deep in Tim’s chest ache.
Tim exhales against Jason’s mouth, tilting just slightly to chase the warmth, to take more. His hands, previously tense at his sides, reach up without thinking, grasping the front of Jason’s jacket, holding on.
When Jason finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to murmur, “Better?”
Tim, a little breathless, a little dazed, blinks up at him. Then he huffs, pressing his forehead against Jason’s.
“…Yeah,” he admits, voice quieter now. “Much better.”
Jason laughs, and this time it’s soft, no teasing, no smugness, just something sweet and fond and easy. He squeezes Tim’s hips gently, like he already knows Tim won’t pull away.
Tim lets himself lean in. Just a little. Just enough.
Somewhere in Gotham, the crime still churns. The night is still cold, the ice is still slick, and there’s still so much to do.
But for once, for just a little while, none of that matters.
Jason’s hands are warm, steady, safe.
And Tim?
Tim lets himself be caught.