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There was something strangely comforting about waking up to the smell of burnt toast and scrambled eggs on some mornings—something that felt warm and intimate in a way that Damian had never experienced before.
Breakfasts at the manor were usually hectic and chaotic, but sometimes solitary and quiet after long nights spent on the streets of Gotham. Experiencing those intimate, personal moments was a complete new for someone like Damian. He never expected to share these moments with anyone — instants suspended in time before being forced back into the horrors of the world — and he seized the opportunity with both hands whenever possible, squeezing every last drop out of it.
It was always like that with Jon. His presence flooded the shadow-filled existence that had always been Damian’s life with light. Despite everything, he managed to give Damian that shred of normality they had both always yearned for and created a sort of bubble enclosing those moments in a calm that they enjoyed as much as possible. When Jon came to visit, Damian could almost taste what it meant to live like an ordinary civilian. It was strange how he had begun to crave this more often than they could afford. He longed to see Jon’s shoes lying around the house, his crumpled jacket hanging on the coat rack and his manga scattered around the living room and study. Even the scent of breakfast, slightly burnt yet made with love, was something he would never give up. It might sound ironic, but it was true, and that morning was no exception.
Damian chuckled and stretched, smiling. He took a moment for himself, letting the scent embrace his senses despite the acrid undertone. Then he sat up, massaging his neck as he got out of bed and stifling a yawn, scratching his buttock rather inelegantly through his soft pyjama bottoms. After a night spent leaping across rooftops and chasing criminals until nearly dawn, he really needed a good cup of coffee and hoped that Jon hadn't burned it.
He stepped out of the bedroom and glanced down the narrow hallway. Sunlight peeked through the kitchen archway in the right-hand corner and the smell of something burning wafted through the hallway. The fresh air streaming in from the open windows tried to dispel the odour. Damian also heard a few muttered curses under his breath and laughed at the thought of how much Jon had taken after his mother rather than his father as he’d grown up. He’d worked hard to shake off the 'good Boy Scout' façade that people had pinned on him just because he was Superman’s son. Now, at nineteen, Damian was proud to see how much Jon had worked on himself and found his own identity. Enrolling in the science department to pursue his dream was yet another sign of how hard he was trying to step out of his parents’ shadow.
Smiling — the hold Jon had over him was absurd, and his facial muscles were working a little too hard — Damian peeked around the kitchen archway. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, he watched Jon bustling about at the stove. It was almost amusing to watch him struggle to scrape the eggs off the bottom of the pan, or to keep the bacon separate so as not to mix the flavours and offend his vegetarianism. Perhaps he should have helped, but there was something comforting in the way Jon clumsily tried to make breakfast, and Damian adored him for it. But he would rather cut his tongue out than admit to that soft weakness.
“Are you trying to set my kitchen on fire, Kent?” he teased, amused. Jon, who had most likely heard him coming before he appeared, simply raised a hand and waved it in the air without turning around.
“It's not my fault your stove is as temperamental as you are,” Jon retorted sarcastically. Damian snorted with laughter.
‘What made you think of coming to make breakfast at…” Damian paused to check the clock on the wall to his right and scratched his chin. “Eleven-thirty in the morning?”
“It’s brunch by now. For an early bird, you’re not much of a morning person.”
“Very funny.”
“I was just being objective.”
Damian rolled his eyes, amused despite himself. “Sure,” he replied, watching Jon's back as he continued to flip what was supposed to be an omelette. Muscles rippled beneath his T-shirt with every movement, and Damian couldn't help but bite his lower lip at the sight. Over the years, Jon had built a lean, trim physique with a respectable amount of muscle, making him look strong without being excessive, and Damian certainly wasn’t complaining about getting to look at it all. Summoning all his boldness, he did something he never expected to do. He closed the distance between them, wrapping both arms around Jon’s hips from behind. Jon flinched for a moment at being caught off guard. “I could get used to this.”
“To burnt toast?” Jon chuckled to break the ice, but Damian just shook his head and rested his chin on Jon’s shoulder.
“To you making it in the morning.”
Damian felt Jon’s curious gaze on him as he licked his lips. He wasn’t usually this open, but he felt he owed Jon some honesty at least. After everything they’d been through and experienced together, he owed it to him.
“I could get used to waking up to the smell of burnt toast; to drinking coffee warmed up by your heat vision when you think I’m not looking; to bickering with you over who gets to shower first, only to end up showering together under the pretext of saving water. I could get used to you coming in through the door instead of the window; to you leaving your stuff lying around, and your science books piled up on my desk; to you taking over the whole kitchen while we argue about what to make for dinner, only to end up ordering Chinese food from a place a few blocks away.” Damian felt Jon hold his breath, felt the tremor of his muscles and — he swore to himself — even felt the frantic beating of his heart. “I could get used to seeing you sitting on the carpet, writing your thesis and getting bored, doing something else entirely instead of focusing on your scientific projects. I could get used to your cumbersome presence in bed in the evening and pushing you aside to make room for myself. I could get used to finding myself hugging you all night without being assailed by the usual nightmares.”
Suddenly, a silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of Damian’s heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He was certain that Jon could hear it perfectly; that, at that moment, he could hear the opening and closing of the valves, and the blood pumping through his body. Everything seemed suspended in an instant that had begun to create a moment charged with anticipation. Yet Damian didn’t regret saying those things, because he meant every word. With Jon, he had always been able to be himself. He had never had to hide who he was or ask forgiveness for it, and Jon’s friendship and trust were worth more than anyone could ever imagine.
“What are you trying to say?” Jon finally whispered. Damian closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. He released himself from that embrace, gently turning Jon’s face towards him so he could look straight into his blue-tinged-with-purple irises.
“Come live with me.”
Jon nearly choked on his own saliva. Had he heard correctly? “What?” he blurted out, watching Damian straighten his back and rub the back of his neck — one of those ‘Wayne-style moves’ that Jon had picked up over the years and which he knew signalled embarrassment.
“I know we haven’t been dating long.” Damian moistened his lips once more, rubbing his fingers together. Since when did his hands sweat? The whole situation was making him nervous, and he never got nervous. “Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe the fact that you’re younger than me plays a role… but we’ve known each other for years, Jonathan. Moving in together is simply the natural course of events.”
Jon fell silent, and he was so quiet that Damian almost feared he’d ruined everything with what had seemed like a simple request. Maybe he’d rushed things. Had he been too emotional? Had he opened his heart too soon? Jon might feel pressured by such a request because of his young age. He might prefer complete independence from his parents rather than sharing a home with Damian and—
“My father is going to flip out when he finds out.”
Damian's tense muscles relaxed at Jon's playful tone. He let his shoulders drop and felt his heart slow down. He knew he shouldn’t have been so nervous, so Jon’s intervention had been a huge help in breaking the tension. Kent always knew how to say the right thing at the right time, even if it might not seem that way to many people. It relaxed him even more when he felt Jon’s arms wrap around his hips shortly afterwards, lifting the corner of his mouth into an amused smirk.
“Lucky for us, your mum's more of a detective than my dad and your dad put together.”
“Nothing escapes the watchful eye of Lois Lane,” Jon chuckled, hunching over to rest his forehead more comfortably on Damian's shoulder. “I was thinking of telling them. About us, I mean,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on an undefined spot in the kitchen. “Before you proposed to me, I was already thinking of telling them we’re dating.”
Damian placed a hand on his back as if sensing that Jon needed that touch. “Given how they act when they’re out and about, I thought they already knew.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. But I never told them, you know?” Jon sighed. “I mean, I haven't been honest with them. It’s like taking something for granted without waiting for confirmation. I don’t think I’ve explained myself very well,” he admitted, ruffling his hair before burying his face deeper into Damian’s shoulder. “What I mean is, I want everyone to know we’re together. Everyone who matters in our lives.”
Damian didn’t speak for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Then he patted Jon on the head lightly and gave him a faint smile. “We’ll do it together,” he declared, seeing Jon lift his head slightly towards him. “When you’re ready to tell your parents, we’ll do it together.”
Jon smiled, a smile so bright that it made the sun, which seemed to be warming the entire kitchen, appear pale in comparison. And, for the first time in his life, Damian felt that he was in the right place with the right person. He felt he had finally found his home.