Chapter Text
It was difficult for Tim to laugh at this moment, he knows you would be joking if you can, he knows he would pretend to hate your joke but then laugh right after.
He knows admiring your features while you peacefully sleep would somehow wake you up then you tease him about it.
He knows how much you need it, seeing the state of your under eyes. Yet, he doesn’t move, just looking at you like it’ll be the last time he’ll ever see you.
Though, that’s the thing about life; there are first times and last times, and you’ll have to move on someday or you’ll be stuck forever, never growing and never living.
So, it took all his might to walk away from the casket to take a seat. He does not want you seeing him cry, you’ve always hated it when he cries, ‘cause you cry too.
Then, it’s just an emotional mess for the both of you, but really, it ends up well for the both of you.
You don’t like seeing him cry, especially if it’s about you. Growing up, you didn’t receive much attention or affection, so you didn’t know how to react when someone shows they care for you. Tim tells you he’ll guide you through it while he shows his own affection.
It was the sweetest thing, but you still aren’t used to seeing him cry, because he barely does—especially if the reason for his despair was you.
The people around were quiet, denying, angry, bargaining, regretting, accepting, grieving… and Tim?
Tim was all. All at the same time, or none at the same time.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.
Even with a rough childhood, you made sure everyone in your life received the complete opposite of what you did. You were the guiding stars in their life. The sun that lights the whole day so people won’t walk around blindly. The moon that rises at night, to remind those in the dark, there is still a reflection of the light.
People, friends, family, even co-workers, went up front just to say a few words, or more than they planned. They talked about how you were like a tree trunk, holding all the branches, leaves, fruits, and flowers together. How, no matter the typhoon, you still manage to stand strong and protect those you hold.
Memories with you played in their minds as they remember the happy and sad memories they had shared with you. How, now you aren’t the only thing gone, but a piece of them is too.
It was Tim’s turn to speak. He could stand here all day—all night talking about you. Hell, he had done it before—or at least attempted to, when his brothers asked who you were. He couldn’t help but just talk about you, talk about how you have the most confusing yet amusing humor ever, about your talents, about how you act like there’s no stopping you—because there is nothing there to stop you, really.
Until cancer did.
So Tim stood there, eyes wet, shoulder slouched—you would always fix his shoulder when you caught him slouching—so he fixed it immediately. He started by telling the story of how you two met, you were in college that time, while he was the CEO of WE. He hadn’t meant to be rude that day, he was just having a bad day (and it was still early!).
You two were waiting for the energy drinks you ordered at a stall. You were strangers to each other then, well—you knew who he was since he’s famous but you don’t know him personally.
When the person handing out the orders called out your order, he stepped in and took it. You were taken aback and confronted Tim, tapping his shoulder and saying something about that’s your order.
He didn’t hear you since he had his earphones on while listening to an ongoing meeting. He replied rather rudely, saying that that drink was his.
You two had a little verbal fight before you realized and pointed out maybe you two had the same order. You realized he was there first. So, you apologized and accepted your mistake.
That’s when you two first met, that’s also when Tim started seeing you more often on the same stall at the same time as well. You were embarrassed to enter his line of sight because of what happened but Tim had realized you two were just having a bad day. So, as an apology, he offered to take you to lunch.
Tim chuckled at the memory as he finished retelling the story. He had more to say, he was going to talk about your best moments together as friends, as idiots in love, then as couples.
He opened his mouth to speak when he saw a shadow of something move from the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He opened them to see nothing there, maybe he’d imagine it, but why does it bother him?
Technically, he’s not physically alone, but ever since you were gone he’d been alone, but at this moment right now; he doesn’t feel like it.
Shouldn’t he feel alone?
He finished his retelling of stories and sat back down, that helped a bit. He felt a bit peaceful, after recalling all the moments you’ve had. He feels happy realizing you’ve had a happy life. He recalls the memories like your voice calls him.
It really is a habit for Tim to bury his feelings. He buried everything.
Covered it up like a wound, but it’s like it’s still there. Why is it still there?
It’s difficult to understand. Then, he realized. It was all you who pulled him out of that habit. You, who taught him to open up.
Why is it suddenly back when you’re gone? Is it because no one will ever see him that way again?
Or is he too afraid that if he opens up, he won’t feel like himself anymore since you are not there to make him feel grounded.
—
Last week was your funeral. He saw you last week. For the last time.
He’ll never see you again.
He’s not one for denying when it comes to him. He’s just mad. Mad that you’re gone. Mad at who, exactly? He doesn’t know.
He prays that the thought leaves him. Everywhere he looks, he sees you. He even feels the shadow of your hands in his. This feeling. This feeling is burying him alive.
He manages just fine in WE as the CEO. Juggling his works and his nightly “hobbies” with ease. Just like the old days, he would tell himself. Even he knows, that’s not it. It’s just all a distraction.
You would tell him, don’t focus on the negative parts of it, instead make something that’ll turn it absolute. You were making a math reference. He tried not to laugh when you said but failed horribly when you looked at him with those expectant eyes, waiting for his reaction.
To be fair, he did find it funny. He just likes to tease you for it, so he pretends to hate your jokes only to fail all the time .
So, he sat there in his office in WE, staring at his finished work. He let his eyes roam around the room, maybe it’ll help. He doesn’t want to think about you, it hurts.
It also hurts to not think about you though.
His eyes wander towards the pile of papers on top of a coffee table on the right side of his office. Those were the papers where you would write about him. When he's busy with work, sometimes he picks you up to stay with him in the office or you visit him just for company.
No words exchanged, just the warmth you both bring.
The papers lay flat, the ink asking to be read. “Not letting you read it until it’s finished!” you would always say. Yet, it always stayed there, you never brought it home.
Even if you aren’t in his office, he doesn’t open it. To respect your requests.
So, he looks away. This time his eyes land on the coaster resting on top of his desk. It was the Red Robin coaster you bought him, you knew he was a big fan of Red Robin (not knowing he is Red Robin).
He wants to touch it, but doesn’t. Afraid it’ll lose value of some sort. As if he’s in a museum full of the things you’ve touched.
Too valuable to be touched by others, but also too valuable to be hidden in the shadows.
He observes it. Noticing the Tea stain on it. It was a cold afternoon when you visited him, you had a mug in your hands; green tea.
You were to place it on the coaster when you tripped on your feet. Luckily, you didn’t fall, but the tea left a stain on the coaster.
You apologized and promised to clean it, even though Tim insisted you don’t have to. He smiled at the memory.
Tim shudders as the wind enters his office, he looks back to see his window… closed. He stood up, to walk towards said window.
His path was stopped by the sound of paper shuffling and falling, he turned to see your papers fly away. “Shit.”
He immediately chased the papers that were obnoxiously flying around. He caught one, tripped on his carpet, then caught the second one.
He looked for the third one, spinning around to look for it. He spotted it on the attached window, as if it was trying to escape.
He tilted his head as he walked towards it, slowly, gently, as if it were a wild animal. He places down the two papers on his desk using the first thing he touched—the coaster—as a paperweight.
He realized what he used as a paperweight and looked back at it.
He shook his head and continued walking towards the third page.
He extended his hand, and just like the paper knew—the wind blew it towards his hand.
He took it with both hands, the ink dry, but the paper warm, results of the sun shining upon it.
He placed it along with the two pages under the coaster.
—
There wasn’t much difference in the Wayne Manor, it was still the same. Before you met, after you met, and even now that you’re gone.
He entered his room, leaving the door open. He doesn’t feel alone that way. He kept the lights closed as he changed into a more comfortable outfit.
He laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A ceiling sticker caught his eyes. It was yours. A glow-in-the-dark star in your favorite color staring right back at him.
He turned to his side, only to see the jacket you left on his desk chair. He grumbled and turned to the other side, towards his window, though the curtains were closed.
He sat up when he heard footsteps nearing his room, smoothing out his hair to look at least presentable to whoever it is out there.
He waited.
Waited.
Waited.
No one.
He swears that footsteps were walking toward his room.
He got up and opened his door wider to check. No one’s there. Is someone playing a dirty prank on him?
If so, he’s not in the mood.
He closed the door this time, walking towards where his laptop is kept.
He sat back down on his bed and placed the laptop on his lap.
Maybe some music would soothe his mind. He opened Spotify, only to see the current playing song—paused, a song you were listening to the last time you were here.
He closed his laptop.
Laid down.
Closed his eyes.
Wind blew in his room, he opened one eye to see his window closed, door closed. It’s doing it again.
He sat up, looked around as if he’s going to see something—find something.
Nothing. Of course.
Though a shadow in the corner of his lingers again. He turned, it was just his clothes rack. Oh.
He needs to sleep this off. You would always say, when he starts seeing things, then he should sleep.
Actually, you never said that, but he imagined you would.
So, he slept.
—
Month. It’s been a month.
Every time he’s in his room, he would feel the wind blow. See the shadow looming in the dark.
He hasn’t touched your jacket on his desk chair, he can’t bring himself to. Your toothbrush stays in his bathroom, some of your clothes still in his closest.
He made your favorite tea once when he was making his favorite. So, he accidentally made two teas. He drank both of them.
He got ready to drive to your home. He’s going to visit your parents.
Sure, they never liked him—but you would’ve checked on them. So he will too.
It’s what you would do.
You don’t like your parents either. Childhood trauma and all that, but you just do.
He got in his car, switching the radio to your favorite station on instinct, then drove off.
He reached your house in no time, and suddenly he feels like he’s picking you up again. This time though, there’s nothing to pick up.
He went home just as fast as he got there. There wasn’t much to talk about. It was all awkward silence and growing tension which Tim did not fail to notice. He can feel your father’s hard gaze on him.
He knew they didn’t want him there, yet he still came anyway.
So, he excused himself and left.
He sat for a whole minute in his car before driving off.
As he does, he doesn't miss the familiar shadow that lingers at the corner of his eye. He learned not to look at it as it disappears if he did. He doesn’t know why, but he’d rather have that shadow in the corner than feeling completely alone.
He hums along to the song playing on the radio. Somehow, he can hear your voice singing along with it.
He glanced at the passenger seat where you would usually sing your heart out to whatever song is playing. Acting like you’re in a music video, and even dancing along.
He finds himself smiling, bobbing his head to the rhythm.
—
He lays in bed, staring at your usual side of the bed. He remembered how you always fought for that side.
The side closest to the window; you said you liked watching the sun rise and the moon hide through the curtains.
He’s trying to sleep, but somehow tonight, it’s very difficult. He stopped drinking his favorite energy drink just so he could sleep.
He stopped drinking it ever since you were gone.
You would tell him to only drink the Zesti when he really needs to stay up late, otherwise skip it and fall asleep.
He doesn’t want to stay awake right now, not ever. Especially if it means he’ll wake to an empty bed.
He sighs and slightly inches towards your pillow. The scent of you slowly fading away with each breath he takes.
He’d stop breathing if it meant a part of you would stay.
His hand found its way on your spot, feeling the cold spot. It used to be warm— so warm.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.
Exhaling, he opened his eyes.
The shadow.
It’s back. In the corner of his eye again.
He didn’t look, he just opened his mouth.
“Are you preventing me from sleeping?”
He didn’t expect an answer, he just continued to stare at your spot.
“Can you make me sleep forever..?” his whisper slowly trails off as he drifts to his long awaited slumber.
He swore he felt it.
The faint touch on his hair before the wind blows and his mind sleeps.
The same shadow was there too when he woke up. He found himself snuggling into your pillow, almost drooling into it.
That was probably the first good sleep he had in a month.
He sat up—the shadow was gone.
He stretched and got ready for work. He didn’t bother to brush his hair or iron his suit. As long as he is there on time is what matters to him right now.
You would’ve freaked—he knows you would’ve.
Right now though, he just needs to move on.
He tells himself that as he stares at the framed picture of you two on his bedside table.
Does he really need to move on?
Or is he just afraid to continue forward without you?
He continued on with his day. The usual meetings, paperworks, and other work stuff.
When the day came to an end, he packed his stuff and left his office. Not forgetting giving it a last glance as if it’s his last chance.
His gaze lingering a second longer on the pile of papers and coaster on top of it—he still hasn't moved it. Why would he?
He left the building and as if on cue, the wind blew, tickling his nose a bit.
That reminded him.
Of the action you would always do.
“Got your nose!” you would laugh after grabbing his nose. You’d explained to him you do that since your parents never played with you, and you grew up watching the other kids get their noses taken by their parents.
He chuckled at the memory.
“You got my nose,” he shook his head in amusement.
He noticed someone staring at him. Probably because he was talking to himself like crazy.
He simply pointed to his earphones, and the guy just nodded and walked away. There was nothing playing in the earphones but who cares to check.
He reached the Manor and felt slightly at home. After all, it is his home.
He walked towards the kitchen, feeling thirsty—it was rather warmer than usual here in Gotham right now.
He opened the cabinet where the glass cups are placed, he went to reach for his.
Though, his hand bumped into the cup beside his. It fell before he could even comprehend what had happened.
The sound of the glass shattering echoed in the empty kitchen as he looked down on it.
His heart dropped at the sight of your glass with its fragments misplaced.
He placed his own glass on the counter rather firmly, almost breaking it as well. He crouched down and grabbed the large shards of the glass hoping it would do something— anything .
Anything at all .
He dropped to his knees and just looked down on it. It was your favorite.
Slowly, and carefully he picked up the tiny pieces. He can remake it but even so.
Once a glass shatters, it can never be the same again.
Sure it can be fixed, but there will always be a missing piece.
So, he has no other choice but to throw it. Yes, it hurts but, it doesn’t have a use anymore, and maybe—just maybe, it happened for a reason.
After he had thrown out the shards, he felt his finger sting. He examined his finger to see his own blood peeking out.
He hissed at the stinging discomfort and made his way towards the sink to wash it off.
If someone would ask him; “What are you thinking right now?”. He would say “nothing.”
That’s not true.
You can never think about nothing. It’s just not philosophically possible.
At least, that’s what you —a philosophy major—would say.
Just as his thoughts faded out, the sound of the running water entered his ears. “Shit.” Alfred’s going to kill him.
He wipes the counter dry, and continues cleaning the floor full of shards. As he finished, he faced his own cup on the counter, grabbing it, filling it with water, and drinking it. He needed to be hydrated.
—
Tim sits at the edge of the bed again. His elbow on his knees, his mind anywhere but here. He’s not thinking about nothing.
He’s thinking about everything all at once.
His fingers twitch with each beat of his heart. His eyes blur with each thought that crosses his mind. His foot taps with each second passing by. He looks up to clear his eyes only to see yet another shadow.
He looks at it.
Really look at it this time.
It didn’t disappear.
It didn’t move.
It just—
Stayed.
He took that as a sign to sleep.
He dreamt.
This was the first he dreamt since you crossed.
It was you.
“Tim!” you ran up to him with a big grin.
He didn’t know how to react, he just stood there as you took both his hands. He slowly leaned in, as if checking to see if you’re real.
“Tim..?” your grin slowly fades into a more concerned look, “are you alright, baby?”
He’s going to lose it.
“Yes…yes?” he answered, looking between your eyes, it felt as if he’s looking at you. The real you.
“It’s okay.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s..okay?”
“To… you know, have emotions. I have it all the time,” you started bouncing on the balls of your feet as your smile begins to grow again.
“Yeah, yeah…you’re right”
“‘Course I am”
He chuckled.
Your hand reached his face. He leaned into your touch immediately.
“You’re not sleeping right,” you scolded. “Again.”
“Sorry,” he dropped his head, “just…missing you,” he looked at you with a shy smile.
You rolled your eyes, “Okay, I miss you too, dumbass”
You notice his throat swallow before he drops his head to your shoulders, his arm coming up to wrap around you.
You let out a sigh and as Tim leaned back to look at you. He found himself staring at a pillow instead.
He blinked once.
Twice.
He saw the sun peeking out the curtains. Its beams lighting up the empty space beside him.
In between his arms—your pillow, your scent.
Oh .
He sat up, and placed your pillow gently on your spot. He brings his hand up to rub his eyes, only to feel it wet. Tears .
He really missed you.
No .
He still misses you.
He yawns and stretches, and as he tries to make sense of his day he remembers he had a dream, yet somehow, he couldn’t recall what it was about.
—
A day has passed and he sat on the edge of the bed once again. Just the same as last night. His thoughts running free around his room, him seemingly not being alone given that the shadow still lingers in a corner, the ache in his heart, the bed tugging— begging —him to sleep.
Finally, he gave in. Made himself comfortable, and fell asleep again.
When he opened his eyes, you were there again. In front of him, dancing to a music so familiar yet he can’t put a finger on it. He felt himself walk towards you.
“Baby! Come dance,” you invited him, grabbing his hand.
He swayed with you as you chuckled and hummed a familiar tune.
He calls your name but you don’t look up.
So, he just enjoyed the moment.
“Crying is okay, you know,” you said out of nowhere. He looks around, you weren’t dancing anymore—neither of you were.
You were both sitting down now.
“Yeah? How come..?”
“You release your emotions. Keeping everything to yourself is selfish, no?” you joked.
He chuckled, “guess so.”
Silence.
Then—
“So, why do you keep it to yourself?”
“What?”
You didn’t answer right away, instead you looked ahead.
He looked ahead too, now seeing a sunset.
“You know you want to, Tim.”
“Want what?”
You looked at him, at his eyes.
“Let it go.”
You were blurry now but he for sure felt your hand caress his cheek. “For me?”
He brought his hand up to clear his sight, but he only saw the empty spot of the bed again.
For the first time, he let it go.
For you .
He cried, and sobbed, and groaned. He let it go.