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Thump. Thump. Thump.
Boots hit the wet pavement rhythmically, like the notes of a song waiting to be written. The beat speeds up. Edged with urgency.
Damian is going to pretend he isn't concerned. A teary phone call from one Jonathan Samuel Kent (Lane) is no unusual occurrence. However, Damian has learned that when it comes to the violet-eyed boy, all rational emotions are multiplied by one thousand. This is evident in the fact that Damian ran here, rather than just, you know, driving. Unfortunately, the boy's heartbreak is not something Damian could take lightly, even if he tried.
He used to find this concern undignified, but he's gotten used to it now.
The burn in his thighs cools down as he slows in front of the corner store that looked like it'd crumble like sand if you breathed too hard.
Jon calls it vintage. Damian calls it ancient.
This particular column of bricks holds an abundance of memories for both Jon and Damian. A few snacks bought with change from Jon's tattered, ratty jean's pockets (they didn't take card. No wonder no one shops here). That mugging they stopped around here during their early Super Sons days. The other time when Jon had insisted on trying some of the sweets in suspiciously sticky wrappers. And various other tidbits throughout their friendship. Jon seemed to have found enough in the deteriorating building to claim the place as their own.
Always drawn to the broken things, the fool. Probably why the kryptonian decided to camp here.
Damian takes a deep breath, and sets his jaw, palm meeting chipped wood, as he pushes the door open. The bell above jingles, joining the rain's orchestra.
Eyes of amethyst are rimmed with a ring of red as they flick up instinctively towards the sound, and then back away, as Jon scrubs at them, sniffling once. Damian let's out a sigh.
He steps towards the taller boy, who's hunched over in a stool, practically radiating heartbreak. He's no longer just spindly, long limbs. Jon is three years older than Damian, now.
A lot has changed. But the way he cries shoots Damian into the past, when Jon's angry pearls of tears inconvenienced him. When things were simpler.
"D, I-I fucked up." Jon croaks out, a fresh wave of tears overwhelming his eyes and slipping down freckled cheeks. He immediately crumples into Damian's extended arms, letting out soft, hiccuping sobs.
Damian keeps his breath steady, threading his fingers through dark curls. He offers no words of comfort. It's not his strong suit. Thankfully, the heartbroken boy in his arms already knows this.
His heart does a painful little twinge as Jon's hands twist in the back of his damp shirt. Damian is motivated to do a lot of different things right now. Namely, punch Jay Nakamura square in the face, despite the Kryptonian's claims that the break up was "all my fault".
Impossible.
How could he so easily give up what Damian would die to have?
Jon sighs, his whole body shuddering as his fingers loosen their death grip on Damian's shirt. The latter takes this as his opportunity to pull back, slightly, and look at Jon.
Glistening eyes look back up at him, lip no longer trembling. His weight is warm on Damian. He decides now is a good time to pull back entirely. That's enough contact for one moment.
Far too close. Jon circles his open palm with his thumb.
"Thanks for coming, D." He says quietly.
Damian shakes his head. "Don't mention it."
The Wayne takes a seat on the stool besides Jon, who seems to be wiping his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. Damian's frown twists into a grimace, but he manages to restrain himself from insulting the latter.
His line of sight moves to the unamused lady at the till, with her wispy white hair and deep frown lines. Damian already knows what she's gonna say -- buy something or leave.
"I would offer to buy you a bar of chocolate," Damian starts, crossing one leg over the other, turning his gaze back to Jon, "but, unfortunately, I don't carry change."
This brings a wet snort out of Jon. Damian's lip twitches up.
Jon digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, wiping the rest of his tears.
"For once, me neither." Jon responds, as he lets out a small, half-hearted laugh, letting Damian know he appreciates the effort, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
The two exit the shop, leaving behind a very irritated old shopkeeper.
The rain has stopped. The duo walks side by side down the empty streets, a careful distance between them, implemented by Damian, unnoticed by Jon.
Jon eventually pours his feelings out, gesticulating every now and then. The self-deprecation that laces every word, makes Damian's blood boil. His fists itch to acquaint themselves with a head of pink hair. But he can't.
After all, Jon isn't his. He never will be. A gap was made that day Jon left for space. A barrier. A crater. A hole where easy friendship, and bubbling affection once was. And left behind loneliness. And maybe a bit of heartbreak.
Damian isn't really listening anymore, lost in his mind. He's wrenched from his thoughts when a pinkie laces with his. That current from the contact, thrums under Damian's skin, shooting up his body, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"What would I do without you, Dames?" Jon sighs.
Damian snorts, composing himself from the momentary distraction. "A lot of idiotic things, I assume." This pulls a laugh from the kyrptonian.
"You're so kind." Jon drawls, voice oozing with a sarcasm that makes Damian's stomach flutter with attraction. He rolls his eyes, but curls his pinkie tighter around Jon's.
A convoluted sort of relief settles on Damian's chest, as they resume their walking in comfortable silence, Jon's trainers skidding against the concrete pavement every so often.
Sure, Jay made Jon happy. Damian's priority is Jon's happiness. Now that Jay is gone, Jon is left broken. Damian should feel sympathy towards his best friend.
But he doesn't. Because that ugly, selfish part, deep inside him is relieved. Just this once, he'll be selfish, and enjoy having his 'best friend' close to him, and no one else.
Damian won't be sidelined. He only hopes, as he looks up, back into those iris pools, that, once this is all over, Jon doesn't leave him hanging alone, again.
Damian doesn't want to lose Jon. Not again. So he laces all their fingers together one by one, each warm finger filling the hole slowly, and hopes Jon takes notice of the way he does it.