Chapter Text
Morning came quietly, like it always did now.
Not with a start. Not with the panic of a nightmare or the sharp breath of a memory surfacing too fast. Just light. Soft and golden, sliding through the curtains in slow stripes, warming the walls of his new room.
Jay blinked his eyes open, the familiar weight of his favorite blanket tucked around his shoulders. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t make his chest hurt. It was lived-in silence, wrapped in comfort.
He got up slowly, feet brushing the rug beside his bed, bare skin warm against wood flooring. The air carried the faint smell of something already brewing.
By the time he padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of that oversized hoodie he’d stolen from Bucky. Bucky was already at the table, hunched slightly forward, pen moving steadily over paper. There were folders stacked neatly beside him, the kind of administrative work that came with carving out a new identity, with setting up life clean and new.
Jay didn’t say anything at first.
He just went through the motions: filled the kettle, let it boil. Picked out his tea. Watched the steam curl upward as he poured the water and the scent bloomed into the air.
He stole one of Bucky’s mugs for the hell of it, just because he knew there were no repercussions, and sat across from him, tucking his legs up on the chair, both hands cradling the mug.
“You’re up early,” Bucky murmured without looking up, voice still half-rough with sleep.
Jay gave a soft shrug. “Slept good.”
That made Bucky glance up. Just for a second. But he smiled when he did. That quiet, proud kind of smile he gave when Jay did something ordinary, something soft. Like existing gently was a victory in and of itself.
They sat there like that for a while—Bucky working in silence, Jay slowly sipping his tea. The light moved across the table, painting soft gold lines on the wood.
After a while, Jay wandered over to the windowsill couch, pulling his blanket with him. His book from last night was still there, a little folded note from Bucky marking his place because he’d fallen asleep too early to do it himself.
He sat down, curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under him. Opened the book and let his eyes settle on the words—but he didn’t read. Not yet.
Instead, he looked around the room.
Their books on the shelves. Their mugs on the counter. The soft hum of the city beyond their fifth-story window. The small plant standing proudly on the sill, stupid name and all.
This was his life.
His apartment.
His home.
He hadn’t known what it would feel like when it finally settled into his chest. That feeling of this is mine. That he didn’t owe the world another version of himself. That he didn’t have to fit the mold of Jason Todd or Red Hood, didn’t have to keep up the armor or the edge.
He could just be Jayce Hollow. Or Jay. Or whatever version of himself felt right that day.
And he had time to figure it out.
Maybe he’d go back to school. Maybe get a GED first, just to prove to himself he could. Maybe college someday. He didn’t hate the thought of it anymore.
Or maybe he’d get a job. The cafe a few blocks away was always busy and smelled like cinnamon. The idea of walking to work with headphones in, coming home with stories of customers and drink spills and tiny victories—it didn’t sound terrible. It sounded normal.
And maybe he’d fight again someday.
Maybe.
If it was for the right reasons. If it wasn’t just about revenge. If it felt right in his skin.
But more than anything, for the first time in years… he had options.
The world didn’t feel like it was closing in on him anymore.
It felt open.
It felt wide.
He let his head fall back against the cushion, the book resting gently on his stomach, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the soft hum of Bucky moving around the kitchen drifted into the background.
He didn’t need to do anything else right now.
Didn’t need to prove anything.
Didn’t need to be anyone else.
Bucky passed by a few minutes later and ruffled his hair gently before sitting beside him on the windowsill couch, coffee in hand.
Jay didn’t move. He just let his head lean against Bucky’s shoulder.
No words needed.
Just warmth.
Just presence.
Just this.
And as Jay cracked his book open again, a slow breath leaving him like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it—
—for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what the word felt like.
Home.