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The end of Tim and Bernard’s relationship started the way many ends did.
We need to talk. Can we meet at the park tomorrow?
In the fifty-seven minutes between Bernard sending this text and receiving Tim’s reply (of course, I’ll meet you there at three), Tim dug through medical records, accident reports, police reports, and criminal databases to try and figure out what could be wrong. He checked in with Bruce, Barbara, Dick, and even Barry (who happened to be on duty in the Watchtower) to completely rule out villain activity. He even— and this was a new low— asked Damian if he’d heard anything about recent League activity. It was a long shot, but Tim wouldn’t put it past Ra’s to have kidnapped his boyfriend. For what ends, Tim didn’t like to consider.
But there was nothing. Everywhere he checked, things were quiet. And when Dick put on his careful-not-to-spook-the-wild-animal voice toward the end of their call, Tim couldn’t deny it any longer.
He was about to get broken up with.
This was not a good feeling.
It sat in Tim’s gut, churning. This wasn’t going to be the first time he’d ever been broken up with, but… well, it was the first time with a boy. Everything about their relationship had felt new and momentous to Tim— even the things he’d done a million times before. Hugging was swoon-worthy, regular dates a gamut of nerves. Hand holding had been nothing short of revolutionary.
So it made sense that he was nervous. He didn’t know what he was going to say, how he was supposed to act. Would Bernard be callous or conciliatory? Drag it out or get it over with? Would there be a list of grievances or exactly no indication at all of what Tim had done wrong? Was this even a breakup?
There was no answer, of course. Or rather, the answer was that Tim would have no way of knowing until it happened.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare.
With the exception of patrol, Tim spent the entirety of the time between receiving Bernard’s text and showing up the next day for their ‘date’ going over scenarios and coming up with contingency plans. If Bernard says x, I’ll say y. If he wants it over with, I’ll leave quickly, but if he wants to talk, I can probably handle at least an hour of discussion before I snap. I’m not going to make this difficult for him. Whatever he says, we’ll still have to discuss what we plan to…
Oh shit, I’m gonna have to tell Dick I got dumped.
From there, a whole new line of thought spawned. How was Tim going to tell his family, his friends, his fucking neighbors—because he’d been stupid enough to go public with their relationship— they weren’t together anymore? Fuck. Well, he hoped the Pride month photo shoot they’d done for the announcement had been worth it. They’d been able to raise a lot of money for LGBT charities, so Tim was leaning toward yes, but… it made this next bit awkward.
Tim was so busy worrying, that he was ten minutes late to his own breakup.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Tim said distractedly, giving Bernard a hasty kiss on the cheek. In his mind they were practically already broken up, but some habits died hard. He checked his watch and winced, running a hand through his hair.
“Okay, slow down Kid Flash,” Bernard said with his usual calming smile. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”
Tim blinked. “Sorry?” He could admit the purple bags under his eyes, yesterday's rumpled suit, and the venti coffee in his hand with extra espresso and more shots of sugar than was legal were all rather incriminating, but sue him. He was going through a break up. Never mind that it hadn’t actually happened yet.
Bernard just shook his head. “Let’s sit down.”
They moved to a park bench—their park bench, the one they’d had their first kiss on, not that Tim wanted to be reminded of that right now— and sat down.
Tim took a long drink from his coffee and set it down on the ground. Then he turned to face Bernard with an expectant expression. His soon-to-be-ex boyfriend didn’t have any of the same signs of exhaustion as Tim, but he could tell from body language alone that Bernard was tense, and trying to hide it. That was fair. Tim knew from experience breaking up with someone was stressful.
“So…” Bernard started hesitantly, fidgeting in his seat. “I’m not gonna sugar coat it, I wanted to talk to you because I think we should break up.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not that these past few months haven’t been— wait, did you just say okay?”
Oops. For all his planning, Tim had already managed to fuck it up. Typical. “I mean… yes? From your text I kind of already assumed that’s where this was going…”
Bernard looked at him. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess that makes sense.” A beat. “It’s just I had this whole speech planned out, but now I don’t know what to do.”
“You could still give it,” Tim offered. “I could… act more surprised?”
“Please don’t,” Bernard said, but he was smiling fondly. “After the relationship is over is not the time to start lying to each other. I think it’s supposed to be the time for brutal honesty.”
Tim’s face screwed up. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Course it does,” Bernard said. “We don’t have to impress each other anymore or protect our relationship or anything. What we say now can be brutally honest because it doesn’t matter as much.”
A wave of panic hit Tim. “Wait, we’re still gonna be friends right?” It was weird that he hadn’t even thought of it. The possibility that he and Bernard might just… never speak again. “Like, we’re still something to each other, just not boyfriends?”
“Of course!” Bernard said quickly. “At least, I hope we can be. It might take a bit, but I think we can get there again. I mean you're still friends with Steph, right?”
Tim thought of the mustache she’d drawn on his face the last time he fell asleep in the Cave. “Basically.”
“Then we’ll work it out.”
“Good. I don’t want to lose you.”
Bernard looked pained. “Same here, buddy.”
Too late, Tim realized the poor choice of words and winced. The air between them seemed tense and brittle in a way it had never been before, and Tim didn’t have a graceful way to defuse that, so he chose a non-graceful way. “Why? I mean, why now?”
He’d thought long and hard about whether or not to ask this question. On the one hand, if Bernard didn’t offer an explanation it seemed almost rude to ask for one, but on the other it would bug Tim if he didn’t.
Just off the top of his head, he could probably make a list ten pages long of ways in which he knew he fell short as a partner— he was too aware of his own faults for that to not be true— but unless he asked, he’d never know which specific ones had been Bernard’s breaking point, and that lack of closure would inevitably drive him crazy. Tim didn’t like not understanding things.
Bernard blew out a long breath of air. “I’m not sure I want to be sitting for this after all. Can we walk?” he asked.
Tim nodded, following mutely as Bernard stood up and started down the trail through the park. It was a typically cold autumn day for Gotham. Bernard had his hands shoved in his pockets while Tim kept both of his wrapped around the still warm mug of his coffee. They walked a few hundred feet in silence before Bernard finally started talking.
“It’s not that I don’t like you anymore,” he began, “because I do. A lot actually. Too much.”
Tim frowned. “I don’t think I understand. If you’re happy, and I’m happy, then why is this happening?”
Bernard sighed, stopping and turning to face Tim. He’d been dodging eye contact for the entirety of the conversation so far, but now he looked Tim right in the eye. He had beautiful eyes, Tim noted absently. He supposed after this, that was probably something he should make an effort to stop noticing.
“Tim, do you love me?” he asked.
Tim tried not to recoil in surprise. “What?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“It’s really not.”
Bernard looked at him, unimpressed. “We are literally breaking up right now, you don’t have to be scared of hurting my feelings.”
Tim frowned. He found that logic to be just as flawed as Bernard’s earlier assertion about honesty. Just because they were breaking up and technically no longer had the same social obligations to each other didn’t mean Tim felt any differently about Bernard than he had yesterday. Of course he was scared of hurting Bernard’s feelings.
But. Bernard was looking at him expectantly, and sometimes even Tim was capable of reaching the conclusion that the person across from him wanted honesty, not protection. It just took him longer than most.
“No, I don’t,” Tim finally admitted. He couldn’t stop himself from tacking on, “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I couldn’t.”
Bernard was unimpressed. “Sure, but will you?”
Tim was silent, an answer in and of itself.
It wasn’t that Bernard wasn’t perfectly lovely— he was. Tim liked him. Enough to reevaluate his whole sexuality. But, when Tim pictured the future, it wasn’t one with Bernard in it.
The truth of the matter was that as much as Tim enjoyed Bernard’s company they weren’t particularly compatible on any deeper levels. And more than that, Robin would always be an elephant standing between them and real honesty. The kind of honesty that laid the foundation for fickle little things like love.
Before he could think it through, Tim said, “So you’re breaking up with me because I’m not moving fast enough for you?”
“That’s unfair, and you know it,” Bernard said, angry for the first time since they started talking. “I’m not trying to punish you for not loving me, but I can’t be in a relationship where I’m so much more invested than you. It’s hard, okay? Because I could fall for you, Tim. I really could. I’m not even a hundred percent sure I haven’t already, to be honest. And that hurts, because I know you’ll never quite be able to say the same.”
Tim shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but refused to look away. He owed Bernard that much. “I’m sorry,” he offered pathetically.
“Don’t be,” Bernard said, sighing. He looked embarrassed by his outburst. To cover it up, he started walking again, as if they could put the messy truth behind them with something as simple as geographical distance. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but…” Tim trailed off, shaking his head. It wasn’t his fault, but he still felt so guilty. He’d felt a certain level of guilt for their entire relationship. At first it was something vague, but overpowering— that had been about the sexuality thing. It had taken time for Tim to truly get comfortable with the thought of being with another boy.
He’d resolved those issues for the most part, but his guilt hadn’t gone away. Instead it had just taken on a new form: guilt about lying to Bernard to preserve his secret identity. He remembered how that had been such a source of strife between him and Stephanie the first go at it. She’d resented him for hiding it, by the end. And she’d at least had the advantage of knowing he was lying to her, Bernard, if he ever found out, would be totally blindsided.
If he never found out, then. Well. That was the glass ceiling on their relationship. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
And now this. Not the guilt of lying, but the guilt of knowing it was because of Tim’s lies that they could never be more than what they were—casual.
“I really do like you, you know,” Tim said quietly, heart sinking. He’d made peace with the idea that their relationship was ending no problem, but he was less comfortable with the knowledge that on some level he had hurt Bernard by not loving him enough. Maybe if they’d never gotten together, Tim wouldn’t be a heartbreaker.
Bernard sighed. “I know. And that’s special in its own way, but don’t you want more than just like? Don’t you want love? If not with me, then with someone?”
Tim just shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He wanted to say yes, but he had to admit that his relationship with Bernard had never been half as painful as his relationship with Stephanie, and the difference was largely his own investment. Everything with Bernard had been exciting and new. Tim had discovered whole new parts of himself that he’d never been able to touch before. It was good. There’d been no passionate screaming matches or dramatic rooftop breakups. No fights, and no making up. Anything that could’ve been an issue had just seemed… unimportant. A minor annoyance that it was easy for Tim to ignore because, well, he hadn’t cared as much.
The lack of villainous intervention probably helped a bit too. Dating civilians was a bit less fraught then dating fellow capes, but it came at the cost of real, visceral trust. The kind that kept Young Justice together and the Teen Titans alive. The battle-tested, seen-you-at-your-worst, seen-you-at-your-best kind. The understanding kind.
No civilian would ever really understand the life experience of a vigilante.
(Except maybe Lois Lane.)
Bernard slowed to a stop, looking out at the path ahead of them. They’d almost found their way back to the street. The sounds of cars and pedestrians were just starting to filter in around them, and Tim had a feeling once they reached that sidewalk, they’d be parting ways. He didn’t know for how long.
“Look, Tim,” Bernard said. “This needs to happen now, while it can still be on good terms. I want us to be able to look back at our time together fondly and have that first positive gay experience or whatever, but if we go on much longer, that’s not going to happen. I’m going to get bitter and you’re either going to be stupidly oblivious, or just spiral into guilt like you do. I don’t want that for either of us.”
It was hard to fault his logic. “Neither do I,” Tim admitted.
“Then… friends?” Bernard asked, turning to Tim and holding out his hand. His smile was painful to behold, small and sad as it was, but Tim beheld it anyways. He didn’t think he’d be privy to this sort of naked emotion from the other boy for a while after this, and he didn’t want to miss a second of it.
Tim shook his hand. “Friends.”
Bernard’s smile became ever so slightly more genuine. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” he said, backing away with his hands still in his pockets.
“Guess so,” Tim agreed neutrally. “Goodbye, then.”
“Bye.”
They waved until Bernard turned around and left. He didn’t look back, but then, Tim didn’t watch him for very long before turning away himself.
It was the end of something, and that knowledge settled in Tim’s chest like a dull ache, but really he found he felt lighter. He could breathe easier. He didn’t know what to make of that.
Don’t you want love? Bernard had asked.
No, Tim didn’t. Love was messy, painful, and hard. Just ‘liking’ was so much easier.
But.
A part of Tim did miss the maelstrom of Stephanie. The way she’d made him feel alive and angry and ecstatic and heartbroken. She’d filled him up to the brim with things he didn’t even know he could feel.
His relationship with Bernard had taught him much about himself as well, but it hadn’t been the same. It hadn’t even come close.
Tim didn’t know if he and Steph would ever find their way back to the eye of that storm they’d kicked up between themselves, but he thought that one day maybe he would want something like that. ‘Like’ was all well and good for a bit of fun and self discovery, but one day, Tim might just want love.
Not today though. Today Tim was going to pick up a pint of ice cream and fall asleep watching Star Wars because fine or not, he just got dumped, and that was his god-given right.
He could worry about the rest later.