Chapter Text
Kon brushed his hands over the soft, felt couch. It was the type of felt where you could draw pictures by changing the direction the fabric faced. Tim shot him a look, “Don’t.” He went back to the kitchen, taking off pieces of his suit as he did so. Watching him take each gauntlet off, setting it haphazardly across the countertop…
“Don’t what?” Kon smiled, breaking from that train of thought.
“Draw a dick on my brand new couch,” Tim emphasized, ducking his head into the fridge. Somewhere in the distance, a cat hisses. He huffs at the similarity. “Whatever,” Kon moves into the small island—brown wooden counters, white marble on top—chair screeching against the hardwood as he sits.
Gotham was loud . Each whoosh of a car, whoop of a siren, everything, Kon could hear it.
“How long are we supposed to camp out here?” Kon boredly asks, peering over Tim’s shoulder. There were water bottles in the fridge, but that was about it. “Until you hear the ticking of a bomb,” Tim slides a plastic bottle across the island and shuts the fridge, “Or until Oracle gives us the all clear.”
They were assigned near an office building (something or other about cargo transports from France that had valuable materials), because Tim had figured out this was one of four potential locations that could blow.
Kon grumbles as he opens his water bottle, “You’re lucky to have me.”
Tim turns his full focus to Kon, his eyes glittering, “Thanks for helping, Kon. Seriously.”
He bites back a grin. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a saint,” he waves off the appreciation rather than addressing it. It being the strange warmth that coursed through him as Tim spoke. It being the buzzy nerves that shocked him whenever Tim said his name. It being the conclusion Kon knew sooner or later, he’d have to face.
“I’m pretty sure I got wifi here,” Tim offhandedly mentions. “Maybe we can try a game or two?” He nods toward the giant TV that Kon wishes they had at the Tower. Kon assents with a nod, “I really can’t believe you have an upscale safehouse.” Truly, the Bat’s paranoia would never cease. Tim responded after taking a drink of water and flopping on the new couch.
“Well, you can never be too prepared, right?” Kon casted him a deadpan look. “I mean, wouldn’t luck have it that a bomb threat is right next to the apartment building I chose?” Tim continued as he began setting up the TV.
Paranoid little freak. As if Tim could hear his thoughts, he spoke, “Prepared, Conner, that is my middle name,” he could hear the smirk on Tim’s face as he buried his head into a pillow.
“Just pull up Mario Kart, or Mortal Kombat, or… something,” he sighed into the emerald colored pillow. Believe it or not, Gotham was not good for soaking up the sun’s energy.
A couple minutes of comfortable silence pass before the TV is up and running and the familiar synth of Mario Kart 8 Deluxe is thrumming softly from the speakers. He perks up, noting how he slightly drifted off.
“Up and ‘attem, Superboy.” Tim tosses a controller onto his back. His TTK saves him the favor of grabbing it as he sits up, “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
Tim’s eyes glinted, not the glitter from before, and Kon felt his stomach lurch forward. Determination, only the kind he’s seen when fighting criminals, shone in his eyes. Kon couldn’t help but stare a little as Tim said this, “Are you ?”
Kon felt heat trail up his spine, as a devilish smile crept on his face, “You wish, Boy Wonder.”
After a couple hours of playing, boredom and hunger were beginning to creep in. Not exactly a stark realization, more of a dull ache that finally made sense when he realized. “Can we order takeout?” Kon asked, sighing slightly as a blue shell slammed into his cart. Tim paused the game.
“I was getting hungry too.” Tim eyed his jacket. “You’ll have to zip it up or hide away when the delivery comes in.”
Kon groaned, “Just DoorDash it or something.” He placed his controller on the TV console. “Can’t sacrifice the bad boy persona for a moment, can you?” Tim snorted, already pulling up the app.
“‘Bad boy?’ As a Super? That’s an oxymoron,” he scooted closer to Tim’s spot, looking at his phone screen. “I think it’s cool.” Tim noted, pulling up a generic Chinese restaurant. They had good reviews, and absolutely delicious looking noodles. He nodded in approval. “Chicken yakisoba?” Tim added it to the order.
With the magic of online ordering and delivery, and a bit of author laziness, their food arrived.
A few moments of quiet eating. Kon was devouring his yakisoba when Tim started to speak. “You know, that couch was expensive.” Kon nodded, slurping up his noodles, “I bet. You rich people…” He teased.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you sleeping on it,” Tim murmured. “The texture must be uncomfortable too,” he wiped his lips on the napkin. Kon’s gaze lingered. “Sure,” he responded, not at all paying attention.
“I mean, we’ll be fine sleeping in the same bed.” Tim waved his hands, all noncommittal. Brief shock—Kon blinked out of his stupor. “Oh.” He dumbly blurted. Tim’s expression changed to something more tense, “If it’s an issue I can take the couch—”
Kon shook his head. “The texture is uncomfortable, right? Don’t worry about it,” he jammed an eggroll into his mouth. Tim instantly relaxed, but a lingering stress sparked behind those icy eyes. Eugh, when did he start describing his life like that?
“Alright. If that changes…” Tim trails off, blinking up at him. So tender. So sweet. Kon just wanted to squeeze him until he popped. “I’ll tell ya,” he says instead.
Tim finishes up his own orange chicken and hums. “I think I’m gonna turn in. Shower up and sleep,” Exhaustion laced his tone. Kon could relate. His eyes traced each mark of his face, following from the smooth ridge of his nose to the soft bumps of his cupid’s bow.
Silence. Oh, right, he was supposed to respond.
“I’ll clean this up and join you?” He offered. Tim did pay, he might as well clean up a little. Plus, paper plates and plastic containers weren’t hard to take care of. Tim nods, flashing a brief smile.
Cleaning up was the easy part. Brushing off the crumbs from the couch, disposing of the little food that remained, it was simple. It was what he knew. Hell, even showering and stealing Tim’s spare body wash was easy. He had a good, citrus scent. It was nice, soaking off the day in hot water.
What was difficult was hyping himself up enough to get under the sheets with Tim.
He probably could have worded that better, but he decided to dive headfirst. Kon tried to stay as careful, and as far away, as possible. Tim already looked like he was passed out. He could hear the faint inhale and exhale stemming from Tim’s nose.
He stiffly laid in the bed beside Tim. Should he cuddle him? Was Tim a cuddler? He didn’t seem to mind laying around with Young Justice, and high fives and stuff like that were fine , but…
But this was Tim! He hissed at Kon when he tried to hug Tim! Granted, Tim was overworking himself to exhaustion, and Kon did tend to smother his subjects. Alright, fair enough. But still. He was a cuddler! What if he woke up latched onto Tim? Would Tim even wake him up? He was a people-pleaser in that way.
Before he could mull through all the possibilities, Tim moved to where his leg was over his hip. Kon froze. Tim’s heart rate was too slow for him to be awake. So he was a cuddler too. Kon took a quiet inhale, before relaxing. Alright, this was fine.
Warm, short breaths against the side of his chest.
Sooooo fine.
The gentle whirring of a fan. The wind blowing outside. Rats scuttling outside the alleyway. The occasional dog barking, or the chirp of a car. If he strained, he could even hear the stormwater drains transporting water, the sanitary sewers transporting other liquids. He didn’t want to think about that anymore.
Kon pretended he could listen all the way back to Smallville. Pa’s snoring and Ma hitting him with a pillow. The snorts and sniffs of the cows. The bristle of corn stalks, they’d be dead this time of year, but he was pretending.
The rustle of sheets breaks him from that, though. Tim shuffled against him again, his face fitting perfectly into Kon’s neck. Tim had his leg fully straddling around his hip, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Huh.
It’s so strange, and so beautiful, how easily touch comes for humans. The slope of his neck carved out, built to have someone’s head in it. Someone like Tim, he chuckles. He doesn’t laugh, actually, that would disturb his friend.
His friend.
Who was currently pulling him closer and closer into the middle. His friend, who should be asleep, but he wouldn’t be surprised if some secret Bat-ninja trick allowed his heart rate to slow. Kon almost gasped at himself, would Tim consciously cuddle him? How could he just assume that?
And then it clicks.
Oh.
Oh.
Like Tim sliding his cheek into Kon’s neck, each groove perfectly smooth, the puzzle completes itself. He didn’t want to be friends with Tim. Sure, they were Tim and Kon. Kon and Tim. Best friends until the end. Best friends who would go stir-crazy without each other. Best friends who would change irreversible aspects about themselves to honor each other.
The Hypertime incident. Another version of them. They were his colors. Them, right now. Content sighs against his neck. No, this had to have passed ‘best friend’ territory a long time ago. He was best friends with Bart. He didn’t cuddle and think about kissing Bart.
Well, other than that one time, that one time he decided that he didn’t want to romantically cuddle and kiss Bart. Tim was different, wasn’t he?
Kon needs to ground himself. He leaned into the touch, rolling onto his side and sliding his arms around Tim as well. Their foreheads bump together as Kon leans in. Shit , he internally curses. Tim blearily hums, eyes sluggishly blinking.
“Kon?” His voice is low, gravelly. Kon shudders.
“Sleep.” Kon whispers back. Tim shuts his eyes again, nuzzling his head into Kon’s collarbone. Kon sighs, the rustling sheets finally silencing.
Listening to his own words, he closes his eyes. This seems like a problem for Future Kon. Sorry, Future Kon.
Fuck you, Past Kon, he blearily thought as the sun hits Tim’s eyes.