Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim picked up his glasses, fogged up one of the lenses, and carefully wiped it clean. He repeated the motion with the other one.

His eyes were sore. The contact lenses had been irritating them, leaving behind a burning sensation every time he took them out. He needed a new set. Maybe tomorrow he’d swing by the optometrist, place his usual order, and have them ready in a couple of days.

He could survive one more day with these. And avoid Jason the next.

He rubbed his eyelids, easing the tension just a little. The screen burned his eyes either way—with or without glasses.

The case was eating at his brain, and the burning sensation was the clearest sign that he needed a break.

He sighed, slipped his glasses on, pushed himself up from the chair, and stepped out of the office toward the kitchen. Maybe there were leftovers from last night. Jason had cooked enough for both of them—and then some. There was always a little extra.

Reheating food sounded better than ordering delivery. Asking Jason to come over—cooking for him again—sounded even better. But the man was busy.

Bruce kept repeating the same thing: meet more people, expand the circle beyond the tight bond of heroes, vigilantes, and self-proclaimed crusaders. Civilians who, in theory, could be their soulmates.

Total nonsense.

Having a soulmate didn’t change anything. If anything, a civilian made it worse. Their lifestyle didn’t align with mundane love.

Bruce didn’t get it, blinded by his own yearning. A yearning he never fought for. One he didn’t even try to pursue.

And that left him and Jason stuck in the middle of some middle-aged man’s crisis, forced to carry the emotional burden of someone trying to fill his void through his kids’ lives.

All because Dick found his soulmate at eighteen—a teammate in the Titans.

And with Damian out of the picture—having found his at thirteen, no less than Superman’s son—and Cass immune to Bruce’s romantic delusions, only he and Jason were left to satisfy the old man’s emotional crusade.

And he was so done with it.

He tossed the food in the microwave while looking for clean plates. Just then, the doorbell rang.

He frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His phone was still silent. No alerts, no messages asking for help. Nothing unusual.

He walked silently toward the door, grabbed his cane, and peeked through the peephole.

Jason.

In full gear. Hair a mess. Anger blazing across his face. His whole body vibrated like a storm on the verge of breaking loose.

Tim stepped back, dropped the cane on the counter, and went to get his contacts. He put them in quickly, blinking against the sting. His jaw clenched as he slipped in the other one. He’d get used to the pain. He would. But he hoped the night ended with Jason walking out the door.

Finally, he opened it.

“You showing up at the front door means it must be serious, Jay,” he greeted, offering a tired half-smile.

Jason stormed in like a hurricane.

“That’s an understatement, Timmy,” he growled, his boots thudding heavy against the floor. “I don’t know if Bruce is doing it on purpose, but every single option he throws at me is worse than the last.”

He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor before collapsing onto the couch. He grabbed a pillow, pressed it to his face, and let out a muffled scream—raw, compressed rage escaping in a single burst.

“That bad, huh?” Tim said, crossing his arms.

“‘Bad’ doesn’t even begin to cover it! It was awful!”

Tim chuckled quietly, sitting across from him.

“How awful are we talking?”

Jason lifted a hand and started ticking off fingers.

“Two guys from Crime Alley: one younger than me, one older. Two high-society women, both younger. And one rich asshole my age.”

Tim nodded, listening.

“And?”

“The women were closeted lesbians. Destined for each other. Their families were thrilled at the thought of merging fortunes. I was just the middleman. Always the damn middleman.”

Tim grimaced.

“The younger guy bonded with a waitress. Beautiful couple. I was actually happy for them, genuinely.” He dropped three fingers. “The old guy got offended because I called him ‘old.’ Stormed off without watching where he was going. Got hit by a car.”

Tim gasped.

“Jason…”

He threw up his arms, his face stretching into a grin so absurd it was painful to witness.

“The driver was his soulmate!”

Tim’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He had to swallow hard just to keep it in place.

“And the rich guy?”

Jason looked at him with a half-smile, his eyes alight with pure chaos.
“Guess.”

He didn’t have much to go on, but Jason always made him guess.
“One of the doctors?”

Jason slowly shook his head, eyes narrowing like he was reliving the whole scene.
“The old man’s younger brother was outside, smoking. Waiting for him. I heard him say something like, ‘Long way to come back.’” He slumped back again, exhausted. “Soulmates.”

“Oh.” The word barely escaped Tim’s lips.

He didn’t know how to comfort him anymore. The details changed every time, but the message was always the same: no one came looking for Jason. They came chasing what he could trigger.

“Sometimes I think people only ask Bruce for a ‘meeting’ with me just so they can find their soulmate.”

Tim sighed. He got up from the armchair, walked over, and gently lifted Jason’s legs so he could sit down in the space he left behind. Jason’s legs ended up across his lap.

“Bruce wouldn’t do that.”

Jason barely glanced at him—just enough to roll his eyes before collapsing again.
“The old man wouldn’t. But the rumor’s already out there in Gotham. And Bruce accepts every single request like...” He cleared his throat and mimicked some pompous rich guy’s voice: “‘I’d love for our sons to meet. I’ve heard good things about yours.’”

He shot Tim a dry look, then turned his eyes to the ceiling, defeated.

Tim sighed again, his fingers gently brushing against Jason’s ankle.
“I know you hate it. But you bring something to people. Your presence shakes fate—pushes it forward.” He repeated what he always said, soft and certain. “I keep telling you, you could start charging for it. Cut Bruce out of the equation. Cut out all those people who lie just to get something from you.”

Jason huffed and sat up straighter, turning to face him.
“And Bruce will say I can’t do that. That if fate changes for them, it’s coincidence. Not because of me.”

There it was again—the same old answer.

“If we count the five new ones, you’re batting a hundred percent with the last twenty-seven people who’ve come near you,” Tim pointed out, calmly.

Jason leaned his arm on the backrest and ran a hand down his face.
“And it still doesn’t seem to be enough for Bruce,” he muttered, then looked over at him again. “Aren’t you up for your scheduled ‘date’ tomorrow?”

Tim groaned like a wounded animal. It was sharp, high-pitched, and miserable.
“I hate it. Ever since I came out, it hasn’t stopped—it’s just gotten worse.” Jason raised an eyebrow and gestured at himself as if the answer were obvious. “I didn’t expect there to be so many gay or bi guys my age!” he defended.

“Don’t even start. I don’t know where he gets all these ‘potential matches.’ And I swear, the second he runs out of people in Gotham, he’s heading straight to Metropolis with flyers shouting, ‘Who wants to date my sons?’”

Tim gasped, shrinking into the couch.
“God forbid.”

For a second, they both looked up at the ceiling and around at the walls. Tim always checked his safe houses. But Batman was Batman. And Barbara was Oracle.

The sound of a phone broke the silence. Jason pulled it from his pocket.

“All clear.” That was the only message from Barbara.

Tim’s shoulders dropped, releasing the tension that had hit him like a punch to the chest.

“I can live with her keeping an eye on me, but for the love of all that’s good… I do not need Bruce in my apartment.”

Jason nodded, fully agreeing. Though his eyes remained fixed on the phone. He needed that pause to think.

Thoughts Tim probably wouldn’t like.

That look—focused, intense—sometimes gave him chills.

The microwave beeped, snapping him out of it.

“I heated something up, but it wasn’t enough,” Tim said, getting to his feet. He glanced at Jason, who was still half-checked out. “You want some?”

The hum he got in response sounded enough like a yes, so he took it as one.

He went to the kitchen, pulled out more food, and set it all to reheat again. In the meantime, he covered his own plate with a dish towel to keep it warm.

He winced as his eye burned. He scratched at the side of it, careful not to touch the center. The contacts were probably destroying his cornea by now, but he couldn’t take them off—not with Jason here.

Not since the rumor started.

Not anymore.

Looking Jason in the eye helped people find their soulmate.

Just like that. Like some kind of ancient, capricious magic.

And Tim didn’t want that. He didn’t need fate meddling in his life. There was no such thing as perfection. His parents had proven it: they loved each other without being soulmates.

And even so, they left two broken souls behind.

Tim didn’t want to be either of them. So he kept his eyes covered—always—hidden behind contact lenses.

A strange loophole in modern technology. The soul didn’t follow the rules of the modern world.
Mirrors, glass, lenses—they all got in the way. Blocked the connection. Kept soulmates from finding each other.

The whole phenomenon had been chaotic. Sometimes even fun.

People locking eyes through a shop window, then sprinting outside just to see each other face-to-face.
Sometimes it was magical. Sometimes, disappointing.

And for the nearsighted—like Tim—it was even worse.

How was he supposed to see his soulmate if everything in the distance was a blur?

It was embarrassing to have to lean in just to recognize someone, so he simply didn’t do it.

No one knew he wore lenses. No one knew he couldn’t see far.

In the end, he’d been trained by Batman and many others. If he could fight blindfolded, he could fake distance vision. And no one ever questioned it.

But that also meant going along with all the dates Bruce arranged, pretending to look at people he’d never recognize—because his soul was hidden behind the plastic in his eyes.

And he couldn’t fake finding his other half. There was no way to lie about that—not with so many people in his family who had found their match.

They saw color.

He didn’t.

And that was the one thing he couldn’t pretend.

The microwave beeped just as Jason swung the door open, a huge grin spreading across his face.

“Go on a date with me!”

It was a miracle Tim wasn’t already holding the plate—he would’ve dropped it on the floor, or worse.

“What?” he asked, completely thrown.

Jason nodded, like he’d just solved every problem in existence.

“If we date, Bruce will stop pushing us to ‘meet people,’” he sing-songed, clearly pleased with himself. “He wants to see us happy? Fine. We’ve chosen the gray tones. We’ve decided to be together and tell soulmates to go fuck themselves.”

Tim stared at him like he’d completely lost his mind.

“Jason, I love you, and I’d love to shut Bruce down in his matchmaking crusade, but... do you really think he’ll buy it?” he asked, clinging to what little logic he had left.

Jason waved it off, unbothered.

“You’re the genius in this relationship. I’m sure you can come up with some deviously brilliant plan to make it all look real. And besides…”—his grin softened, turned intimate—“if Bruce wants to fight this, he’ll have to confront his own soulmate drama and admit he still hasn’t let go of Clark.”

“That was low,” Tim muttered, already feeling a laugh rise in his chest. “Still, I’m seeing holes in your plan…”

Jason didn’t let him finish.

“Do I have any clothes here?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard by the shift.
“Yeah…”

“That food you’re heating up—did I cook it?” Jason pointed at the microwave.

Heat crept up Tim’s neck.
“Yes.”

Jason smiled like he already had victory in the bag.
“Do I have a toothbrush in your bathroom? Underwear in your drawers? A towel that smells like me?”

“Jason—”

Tim groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Jason lifted both arms, triumphant.

“You’re a little spoon that scoots to the edge of the bed once I steal all the warmth—”

Tim crossed the kitchen in two steps and clamped a hand over his mouth.

“I get it! Okay? I get it,” he growled, teeth clenched. “Just stop saying embarrassing stuff.”

Jason’s smile only grew under his palm. He tilted his head, amused, eyes searching for his.

“Are we lying to Bruce with this, Timmy?”

Tim pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes.

He knew he didn’t want more dates. He didn’t need to meet anyone. He wasn’t going to bond with a stranger just because some twisted version of destiny decided to match them.

But he didn’t know why Jason didn’t want it either.

Using Bruce as an excuse, blaming outside pressure—it didn’t hold any weight anymore.
He could find his own dates—he knew where, with whom.
He could reject Bruce’s proposals with solid arguments, stand his ground, build his independence without putting on a show.

They both could.

And yet, here they were.

Playing Bruce’s game.

Tim knew why he was still going along with it. He’d thought it through.
But he didn’t understand why Jason was doing it.
And he wanted to know.

“But stop calling me Timmy. I’m twenty, Jason.”

Jason raised his hands, shoulders shrugging, wearing an innocent smile that fooled no one.

Tim sighed, already sensing he was going to regret this.

“But fine. Let’s do it,” he finally gave in, pulling his hand away from Jason’s mouth. “I win too. I don’t need another parade of greedy idiots who only want a combination of my inheritance and my last name.”

“Very specific,” Jason muttered, raising an eyebrow.

“Unlike you, Crime Alley boys don’t make it through Bruce’s filters.”

“Not sure if I should feel flattered or insulted.”

Tim stared at him, waiting.

Jason pointed at himself with his thumb.
“I am a Crime Alley boy. You think Bruce isn’t going to lock me in an interrogation room and hit me with his most gothic tone?” He cleared his throat, deepening his voice dramatically. “‘Second son, what are your intentions with my third-born?’”

Tim burst into laughter, turning his head to the side as he tried to muffle the sound with his hand.

“Dick’s going to die with the pseudo-incest implications.”

Jason shrugged, mischief shining in his eyes.
“That just makes it even more fun, don’t you think, Tim?”

Tim nodded slowly.
“You have no idea, Jay.”

Well, that was a plan. And it would be fun.
Spending time with Jason always was. Pretending to date just to shut down Bruce’s emotionally repressed matchmaking campaign wasn’t the worst thing they could do.

His eye throbbed again, and Tim swallowed a curse.
After talking to Bruce, he’d find time to get a new pair.
So far, that was the most solid plan he had.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Dinner was over, and Tim could feel exhaustion sinking into his skin.
He collapsed onto the bed with a low groan, stretching until he filled every inch of the mattress.
Jason watched him from above, patient, like he wasn’t in any rush to start his own nightly routine.

“Bruce is going to ask questions,” Tim mumbled through a yawn.

He rolled to his side of the bed, leaving space for Jason, who lay down in silence, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Got any alibis for that?” he asked with a half-smile, eyes glinting with mischief.

But Tim did have them.
One for every Bat. For their friends, too.
Plausible scenarios, crafted without holes, without explanations, without hesitation. Lies ready to hold up the façade if it ever came to that.

He’d only used one. Once.

They didn’t talk about it. That was part of the deal, too.

Jason’s smile faded. He sat up in bed, eyes wide, locking on him.

“Don’t tell me you actually have them.”

“I don’t,” Tim said immediately, pressing his lips together to hide the laugh bubbling up.

Jason dragged a hand through his hair, looking at him like he was some kind of dangerous entity.
“You’re a menace to humanity, Timmy—”

Jason looked away too quickly.

“You were going to call me Timmy,” Tim accused, raising an eyebrow. “I ask one thing from you, Jason. Just one. And you already blew it. I think this relationship has no future. We’re done.”

Always the dramatic one, he grabbed the blankets and whipped around, tugging them hard to steal them all for himself.

“Hey!” Jason complained, tugging back. “I didn’t say it. You said not to call you Timmy, and I didn’t.”

“You just did,” Tim growled, clinging to the covers like his life depended on it, curling up like a human burrito. “Out of my apartment, Jason Todd. I want nothing to do with you or your cooking.”

Jason snorted and lunged at him.
Tim yelped when Jason lifted him with humiliating ease, still wrapped up in the blankets.

“That doesn’t count! And besides, you love my cooking. If it weren’t for me, you’d be living on frozen pizza.”

He spun them both around on the bed, the mattress creaking loudly beneath them.

Tim’s scream dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

“Jason!” he shrieked between gasps. “Put me down! You’re gonna break my bed with your damn games.”

Jason let him go carefully, dropping him onto the mattress before climbing on top of him, pinning him down.

His grin stretched from ear to ear, his breathing just as ragged as Tim’s.

“I didn’t call you Timmy,” he insisted.

Tim held back from rolling his eyes, but clicked his tongue in obvious disapproval.

“The pizza was good.”

“Not for your arteries, if that’s all you eat,” Jason shot back without missing a beat. “Do you still want me to leave?”

Tim shook his head, exhaustion hitting him full force.

“I want you to get off me and let me sleep.”

Jason shifted, helping him untangle the twisted sheets.

“Spoon or no spoon?”

Asshole.

If there was one thing Tim accepted without argument, it was that he slept like he had ice in his veins. His body just didn’t hold heat, and he needed layers and layers of blankets to survive the winter.

With Jason, it was easier. That man ran hot, always. Tim purred like a cat, stealing as much warmth as he could.

“Yes. Now shut up. We’ve got four hours to sleep before we have to come up with a plan to fool Bruce.”

Jason nodded, settling on his side of the bed. He opened his arms in invitation. Tim didn’t hesitate.

Why would he?

He needed sleep. To come up with the plan. To pull it off. To make it work. And to earn the rest of the day off.

He silently thanked the universe when he finally managed to close his eyes. His glasses had started to sting, and that was never a good sign.

He just hoped tomorrow would go by fast, because he had no idea how much longer he could tolerate them.

Shit.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tim stared at the monitors on his computer, cursing under his breath.

He left his office with quick steps, nearly at a run, heading straight for the living room where Jason was sprawled on the couch, watching a show.

Halfway there, he kicked off his slippers and caught Jason’s attention just as he was pulling his shirt off. The man’s jaw dropped, lips parted, scrambling to sit up.

Tim stopped him with a firm push, pinning him back against the cushions, kneeling on either side of his hips. Jason swallowed hard, caught in visible confusion.

Tim made the decision for him—he took Jason’s hands and guided them to his own waist, no hesitation.

Jason froze, stuck somewhere between shock and disbelief.

Tim leaned forward, just enough for their lips to almost touch.

That’s when the front door burst open.

Bruce’s shout exploded like a brutal echo through the stunned room.

“Tim! One of your scheduled appointments just got moved up!”

His quick, urgent steps stopped at the edge of the dining room, staring at the two men on the couch.

Okay. This was not the action plan Tim had wanted to follow.

By his calculations, they still had at least two more hours before Bruce showed up. Having an appointment moved up—something that never happened—felt like a cruel joke from life. Not fate. Never fate.

Was this the best option? No.

This was a script written for Dick and Wally. Don’t ask why.

But Bruce was already too close, practically devouring the steps two at a time, and Jason was still way too far out of position.

There wouldn’t be time to give him any subtle signal.

If they were going to start this now, Tim had to move first.

He didn’t budge, still straddling Jason’s thighs, staring at Bruce with exasperation that needed no acting.

Jason ducked behind the couch, completely out of sight from the older man.

“Doorbells exist, Bruce,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

He sighed—long and dramatic—like someone had interrupted something truly important.

He stood from the couch, giving Jason a second to pull himself together. Scooping his shirt up from the floor, he pulled it back on.

Bruce stood frozen where he was, whatever mask he usually wore lying shattered on the floor.

“What…?” The word came out thin and strained, and Bruce had to clear his throat. “What were you two doing?”

Tim smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt without meeting his eyes.

“Nothing,” he said simply.

“We got interrupted before doing anything,” came Jason’s voice from the couch, already seated again, staring Bruce down with a scowl… and the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Bruce inhaled like it physically hurt.

And Tim pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“You two…” Bruce started.

“We,” Jason confirmed without hesitation.

His legs finally seemed to work again, and his mind shook off the initial shock. He walked over to Tim’s side, draping an arm over his shoulders.

“We’re done with you. With soulmates and…”—he dropped his voice, loaded with meaning—“last night we had a more honest conversation.”

The smile that followed wasn’t subtle at all.

“The kind you don’t like. The honest ones.”

Tim had to suppress any reaction, even as he felt heat creeping up his neck. He nodded, glancing sideways at Jason.

That wasn’t in the script they’d agreed on, but it worked: Bruce stepped back slightly.

Just a small crack in the mask, but enough. He frowned and planted his feet again, regaining composure.

“This is what you want?”

What a simplistic question. What was he fishing for? A love confession?

Jason glanced at him, clearly expecting him to say something too.

Tim was the one who’d built this scene, who’d arranged every piece to make this first strike land as hard as it just had.

“Yes,” he whispered, taking a deep breath to reorganize his thoughts.

He didn’t think any of his plans covered this particular scenario, but he could improvise.

Almost as well as Jason.

“Yes. I… my parents were happy without being soulmates. And I can’t… we can’t long for something we don’t even know how it feels.”

His voice turned steady. He took a step forward, locking eyes with Bruce.

“I wouldn’t trade this for colors, Bruce.”

A silent war exploded between their stares.

Jason didn’t say a word. Silent at his side. Too still. His pulse racing, and a hitch in his breathing that Tim didn’t miss as he spoke.

A reaction Tim wondered if he should explore later.

Bruce gave in. Finally. He nodded.

Tim let out a long breath, blinking several times to clear the sting burning in his eyes.

“I… understand,” Bruce finally murmured, his gaze softening. “You know all I want is your happiness. If this makes you happy, you have my full support.”

Jason’s arm tensed, and Tim stopped himself from doing the same.

“That easy, old man?” Jason asked, incredulous.

Bruce shrugged, casual.

“You’re two grown men. You know what to do with your lives. Make your own decisions. Choose who to share them with.”

Tim squeezed Jason’s hand, stopping him before he said something stupid.

He leaned a little closer, eyes wide and shining, fixed on Bruce.

“Thank you, I… I thought you wouldn’t approve.”

Bruce offered a small, warm smile.

“I’ll say it again. I just want your happiness. Nothing more.”

With that said, Bruce lifted his gaze to the ceiling, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“We already had the safe sex talk,” he added quickly. “And I want you to tell Alfred. Even if you don’t want anyone else to know, he has a right to.”

“Of course,” Jason answered immediately—maybe too well-conditioned to never say no to the older man.

And Tim couldn’t either. Not when it came to Alfred. Not when it came to Jason.

That conversation would be the final nail in the coffin of this whole farce.

He doubted he could keep up the lie after that.

And he didn’t know what to do with that thought… with that sharp, chest-tightening dread.

“All right. Good. See you at dinner on Saturday.”

As quickly as he arrived, Bruce left.

Tim stared at the empty space for a second, confused.

Then he turned to Jason. A crooked smile and amused eyes stared back at him with no shame at all.

“Jason.”

“Tim.”

“What did you do?”

Jason looked offended, placing a hand dramatically on his chest.

“Why would I have done anything?”

Tim narrowed his eyes, replaying the last ten minutes in his head.

Tim. Couch. Jason. Bruce. Jason standing up from the couch…

His gaze automatically dropped to Jason’s pants. Buttons half-done, or half-undone. Pants pulled up—or down—with clear, clumsy haste.

Tim pulled his hand away from Jason, stepping back with a gasp.

“Jason!”

Jason raised both hands, pure innocence.

“You were shirtless, almost kissing me. I just added a little dessert to the plate you already served.”

“No food metaphors,” Tim growled through gritted teeth.

“You love them,” Jason teased, finally fixing his pants.

“No,” Tim said flatly, walking toward his slippers. “I hate them as much as I hate you.”

Jason laughed—loud, booming, and warm.

“Don’t lie! You don’t hate me, Tim! Admit you love me just as much as you love my terrible metaphors!”

Tim snorted, not bothering to answer, and disappeared back into his apartment’s cave. Jason’s laughter followed him a little longer, even as he closed the door.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The day… had been long. And the night wasn’t shaping up to be any better.

After Bruce left, they had to start planning how to face the rest of the family. Bruce accepting it so easily meant he intended to say it out loud.

Maybe not immediately—maybe he’d give them the space to talk to Alfred first—but they doubted things would stay this simple for long.

Bruce accepting them without a single reproach? They hadn’t seen that coming. Neither of them.

With his obsession over soulmates, they’d expected… a bit more resistance.

A roadblock. Something to buy them time. It would’ve been easier if they didn’t have to talk about this with anyone. If the lie stayed just between them, Bruce, and Barbara.

But now they were cornered. And they’d have to move forward with this.

Tim collapsed onto the rooftop, letting the air rush out of his lungs. He’d been running nonstop all night, finishing his patrol, and his legs had finally demanded he stop. His eyes too. He closed them, giving his irritated corneas a well-deserved break.

They felt dry, tight, after so many hours under the plastic. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to put the contacts back in if he took them out now.

And he couldn’t risk leaving his eyes exposed. Not while Jason was still in his apartment.

Jason had stayed. Like always. And Tim… Tim never managed to kick him out.

Which meant he couldn’t take out the lenses either. Not even for a shower. The protective case was in his office, and there was no way to move it across the apartment without raising suspicion.

The sound of footsteps made him tense. Tim clenched his jaw.

He opened his eyes—and found Dick smiling down at him.

“How’s it going, Red?”

Tim closed them again, letting himself sink into the dirty floor.

“Too many people active tonight. I cleared my route, but I feel like I need to double back and secure the points I didn’t check.”

Dick hummed something barely audible. The rustle of his suit followed as he settled down beside him.

“Did you know the rumor that Tim Drake’s been skipping his scheduled dates has already reached Blüdhaven?” he asked softly.

Probably leaning closer, with that annoyingly charming grin that made him impossible to stay mad at for long.

Tim tensed his jaw even more.

“No, I didn’t know. I don’t have time for gossip, Nightwing.”

But Dick didn’t let go. And Tim hated him when he did that.

“I wonder what caused such a sudden change,” he murmured, using that soft tone meant to dismantle defenses without raising a single weapon.

So… he wants to know if I found my soulmate… and didn’t tell him. Of course.

The second biggest soulmate fanatic, ready to interrogate him. Because he knew something—but not everything.

Bruce hadn’t told him, so he was here hoping Tim would.

“Nothing destiny-related, I can promise you that.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the distant hum of the city. Long. Tight.

Tim had nothing more to say. And Dick’s whole approach—his blind faith that this was about a soulmate—crashed straight into a wall.

“So why didn’t you go?” he finally asked, a hint of concern tightening his voice.

Tim didn’t look at him, but he could imagine the slight downturn of Dick’s lips, the furrowed brows.

“Can’t I just say, for once, that I didn’t want to go?”

“Of course you can. But you never do,” Dick shot back without missing a beat. “Once, you went with the flu—coughing, sneezing, scaring away every single potential date that night.”

Tim smiled automatically. That night had been fun—and he’d managed to bail out early. Left the rest of the evening free for Jason… For hot soup… and a fight over the ending of some movie. He couldn’t even remember which one now.

The argument had taken a back seat when they started wrestling over who was right. Tim had won… though he was pretty sure Jason let him.

“And Bruce wouldn’t let you skip so easily, you know that,” Dick added now, serious.

Of course not. Not him. Not Jason.

No matter what Bruce had said—or thought—before, the man had that hollow space he couldn’t fill, and both of them were a powerful kind of comfort.

Maybe that’s why he let them go so easily. Seeing a “couple” without a soulmate bond… “together”… gave hope to his cursed, lonely heart.

As if he wasn’t the same man who pushed everyone away. Every. Damn. Time.

Now Bruce had told them they could tell everyone—or no one—except for Alfred. He had to know.

And with Dick now hovering over him, next week, when Jason skipped his scheduled dates, Dick would be hovering over him too.

It wouldn’t take him long to put the pieces together. The ones they’d left scattered all over the table themselves.

And then it wouldn’t just be the pseudo-incest talk. There’d also be the part where Dick cried because they hadn’t told him. Both conversations sounded equally catastrophic.

“I’m dating Ja… Red Hood. We decided soulmates don’t matter, and destiny won’t impose anything on us,” he blurted out.

Tim cracked an eye open, looking at him.

Dick snapped his mouth shut so fast the click of his teeth echoed between them.

The silence that followed was brief. Just a held breath between the two.

Dick nodded. Like he’d already reached a conclusion that needed no further explanation.

“Oh. Well. I’m happy for you two.”

What?

Tim sat up slowly, watching Dick scratch the back of his neck, awkward.

“And I’m sorry you had to say it like that. I guess you were trying to find a softer way to tell me, and I kind of forced it out of you,” he said with a sheepish laugh.

What…?

“It’s… fine. I wouldn’t have known how to say it anyway,” Tim murmured, still fumbling for words. “And… thanks.”

Dick smiled, and maybe—just maybe—there was something close to real happiness shining in his eyes, even under the mask.

“No need,” he said, standing up. “But seriously, I’m really happy for you guys.”

Tim nodded, still dazed. Dick ruffled his hair with a quick swipe before stepping away.

“Have you told Agent A yet?” he asked, like it was a random thought that crossed his mind.

Tim shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Dick tilted his head, crossing his arms.

“We’ll do it at breakfast,” Tim added quickly.

That seemed enough for the man.

“Better hurry. You don’t want him to be the last to know. You’d break his tiny British heart,” Dick said with a laugh, before jumping off the rooftop and disappearing from sight.

Tim’s eyes burned. He didn’t know if it was from the lenses… or the conversation he’d just had.

What the hell?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tim stepped into his apartment. Patrol was over, and all he wanted was a few blessed minutes to take out his lenses while he showered.

Unfortunately for him, Jason was already there. Slouched on the couch, still in full Red Hood gear. Helmet off. Hands covering his face, elbows on his knees. Not an encouraging sight.

Tim dropped his staff on the table and tossed his hood onto a chair. He gave up on the chance to free his eyes. Took a deep breath. Blinking fast, trying to shake off the irritation.

And finally, walked over to his own bargain-bin version of Shinji.

“What’s got you being this dramatic?” he asked, flopping down next to him on the couch.

His hand moved on its own, like always, going straight for the damp curls in Jason’s hair. Still wet from patrol, which meant he’d arrived maybe five minutes ago. And that he needed a shower.

“Had to move to Chinatown for a case. Drug distribution trying to spread into Crime Alley. Got stuck working with Orphan.”

Tim hummed in response, encouraging him to keep going.

Jason took a deep breath, still not lifting his head. Still hunched over, face buried in his hands, while Tim’s fingers tangled in his hair. And then, without raising his head, he started talking about his night:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Jason stared at the spot in front of him. Three of his targets had gone in and still hadn’t come out. Surveillance was dragging on forever, dull and mind-numbing. And Cass kept turning toward him with absolutely zero subtlety.

He couldn’t see her face, but he wouldn’t be worthy of Batman’s training if he didn’t feel the weight of someone else’s stare digging into his skin.

“I don’t think this is ending anytime soon,” he grumbled, pulling off his helmet to get a breath of fresh air. Or at least, as fresh as Gotham could offer.

“What’s going through that little head of yours that you’re staring at me so much?”

Cass didn’t answer. Kept her eyes on the building for a few more seconds, like deciding whether it was safe to let her guard down.

Then she did.

She turned to face Jason. No filters. No hesitation.

“You look happier. And more relaxed,” she said with that sharp certainty that left no room for argument. “I’m glad for you.”

Jason shook his head, confused.

“Hold up there, Orphan.”

He stood up, face scrunched, eyes locked on her.

“What are you trying to say? You know I hate it when you analyze me with all your”—he gestured from head to toe—“damn body language-reading skills.”

Cass didn’t react. Nothing that showed under the suit or Gotham’s darkness.

“I didn’t analyze you. Didn’t need to. You wear your emotions so plainly even Spoiler could pick up on them.”

Jason let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. His body still tense.

“Don’t know if I should be offended for me or for the poor girl,” he muttered under his breath. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Cass chose to face him head-on. She stood, close enough to meet his gaze—or at least give the impression that she did.

“You found your soulmate. And I’m congratulating you for it.”

Jason choked on air, coughing as he stumbled back. Heat surged up his neck like a flare.

“I don’t know what you’re seeing, kid, but that’s not happening.”

Just a second. A breath. Cass tilted her head, just a little—but enough to notice.

“But you’re happy. That kind of happy I only see when two souls meet.”

Jason snorted, swallowing any curse about soulmates.

Cass was good. She didn’t deserve him unloading on her. Besides, she was one of the few who didn’t—at all—look at him with that damn hope that he’d guide their fate toward a lost soulmate.

“Well, no. Haven’t found anything. Still as black and white as you. Or Tim.”

Instant regret. The second he said it—named that gray dancing behind his eyes—he wanted to take it back.

He almost corrected himself. Almost apologized. Almost swallowed the words.

But she seemed… pleased.

“You two…” The words slipped from her in a whisper, barely audible, more for herself than for him.

A test tossed into the air, waiting for impact. Or reaction.

“Don’t read my reactions, Orphan.”

“Then don’t be an open book, Hood.”

Whatever conversation might have followed evaporated with the explosion from the building. The one they were supposed to be watching.

Jason cursed under his breath, shoving the helmet back on as Cass already leapt off the rooftop.

No time to argue. But the gaze—the one he couldn’t see—of Cass tracking his every step sent a chill down his spine.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Can you believe it?” Jason asked, finally lifting his head, voice dripping with mockery. “Sometimes I think she spends too much time with Steph, and her heart’s getting all sentimental and soft.”

Tim watched him without flinching.

“Cass is never wrong, Jay. You know that.”

Jason buried his face in his hands again, trying to hide the pink creeping into his cheeks. Tim didn’t get to see it often—but it was always nice. As tough as Jason was, seeing him have soft moments like this… It was kind of… sweet.

“Dick cornered me mid-patrol,” Tim said, carefully testing the waters to bring up the topic.

“Asked why I skipped my dates.”

Jason huffed, looking up with open curiosity he didn’t bother to hide.

“And…?”

Tim pulled his hands back, squeezing them between his knees.

“I told him we’re dating.”

Jason’s smile spread wide, amusement sparking in his eyes.

“You had to sit through his whining all by yourself?”

Tim blinked, holding back the urge to rub his eyes—or gouge them out.

He shook his head slowly.

“He was happy for us.”

Jason’s face twisted, caught between confusion and disbelief.

“What?”

“Yeah. That was exactly my reaction.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Jason muttered, shaking his head.

“Not at all. But he also said we need to tell Alfred. And if this lie keeps going, Jay, we’re gonna have to talk to him.”

Jason’s expression darkened. He let his head fall against the back of the couch.

“I don’t know how to lie to Alfred.”

Tim let out a long sigh, searching for his gaze.

“I don’t either. But I think it’ll be worse if we back out now. Bruce won’t ever let us go.”

Maybe they were looking at each other a little too long. Tim would never say it out loud.

But sometimes… he wondered what color his eyes were.

Dick had described them once. Said they used to look like the clearest sky. That after coming back to life, they turned green—like sunlit grass, almost like something out of a fantasy. Unreal. Now… like grass soaked in endless rain.

And Tim didn’t understand those metaphors. Everything was gray for him. But they sounded so beautiful, so alive, that he wanted to see the real version. Not through borrowed words.

Jason parted his lips, just a sigh slipping out.

“It has to be before Saturday dinner,” he murmured. “If Bruce, Dick, and Cass know, that puts Damian, Steph, and Duke in the same group.”

“Alfred will be the last to find out if we don’t have breakfast with him today.”

He didn’t mention that Dick had basically demanded to see him. His doubts about that conversation had no place right now—not with Jason in front of him.

“Do we have a plan or are we winging it?”

“We won’t get lucky enough to wing it with that man. I’ll write something.”

Jason nodded, standing up.

“I’ll make a quick midnight meal.”

Tim grabbed his hand, stopping him. Looked straight at him for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“Shower first.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Jason tackled him instantly, and Tim reacted just as fast.

They lost a good few minutes in that not-so-small fight.

No punches. Just that usual push and pull for control. To see who could keep the other pinned to the floor the longest.

Maybe… with more hands brushing against skin than the situation called for. But Tim didn’t say anything. And Jason didn’t either.

In the end, Jason took a shower. Tim had a few ideas for the meeting with Alfred. And they ended up sharing a meal in the middle of the night.

“I got insulted, and you plan on going to bed all dirty? Timothy, I’m offended.”

Tim rolled his eyes and dismissed him with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Just go to sleep. I have a second report to finish first. Unlike you, I do my paperwork.”

Jason stepped back, raising both arms with theatrical flair.

“Just admit you don’t want to shower, and you’re going to bed smelling like sweat and Gotham grime.”

Tim clenched his teeth.

“Do you want another fight?”

“Of course not. You’ll get me dirty again and I’ll have to shower twice.”

Tim sighed, pointing toward the bedroom.

“Get out of my sight.”

Jason covered his eyes with one hand and placed the other dramatically over his chest.

“I’m trapped with an abusive, toxic husband. My sisters warned me… they said, ‘Jason, run from men with trouble written all over their eyes’… but no… here I am… suffering.”

Silence.

Tim stared at him, blank-faced.

Jason just smiled.

“No more musicals today,” Tim growled.

Jason laughed as he disappeared down the hallway.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Jason vanished down the hall, and finally… Tim could breathe. He took refuge in his office, where the stillness of the room let him relax for a moment.

He walked straight to the desk and grabbed the contact lens case. His hands trembled. He blinked hard, trying to ease the burning that flared in his eyes again; that burn that never fully went away, that he’d just learned to tolerate.

Tim cursed under his breath when he caught his reflection on the computer screen. Part of the skin around his eyes was still red. Not too obvious, but enough to become a problem if he didn’t fix it.

And he’d need to come up with an excuse to explain it.

He pulled his eyelid down with his thumb, gently separating the eye. The first lens wouldn’t budge. He blinked again and tried once more. The plastic felt fused to the cornea, dry, like it was punishing him for wearing it so long.

“Come on…” he muttered, clenching his jaw.

He remembered Steph always said opening your mouth helped with eyeliner. Relaxed the face muscles. He never asked why—but decided to give it a shot.

Now he was a ridiculous sight: mouth slightly open, short breaths, struggling to peel off a dried-out lens from an irritated eye. Oracle would have to wipe all footage from tonight. Non-negotiable.

Finally, with a sharp tug, he managed to pull it out.

Pain exploded instantly—sharp and burning—forcing him to curl over the desk, covering his eyes with one hand.

Air brushed against the bare cornea, and tears spilled out as he fought to keep the rising cry trapped in his throat.

He took a deep breath to swallow it down. And when he finally pulled himself together, he moved on to the other eye. This time he didn’t wait as long. He couldn’t. He pinched the lens between his fingers and yanked it out with a spasm of bottled-up rage.

He let them drop into the case, storing them like a weapon that, later, would torture him again. He leaned back against the chair, panting with a slight tremor, eyes squeezed shut. The tears finally came, mixed with the irritation’s moisture and all the tension he’d been holding back.

At last, he could see… badly, blurry, out of focus. But at least, without pain.

It was such a cruel relief it almost embarrassed him.

He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together. He had to hurry before Jason decided to burst into the shower, rushing him so they could sleep at least three hours.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Nor the last.

That bastard didn’t know the meaning of decency.

He grabbed the lens case and reached for an emergency change of clothes he kept in the office. Then he headed for the bathroom.

Five minutes to shower.

Ten to put in the new lenses.

Another five to handle the eye pain.

And he’d be ready for bed.

Tomorrow he’d have to meet Alfred early. If luck was on his side, he could dump Jason with him for a couple of hours. Post-breakfast meetings always dragged on, and it’d be the perfect chance to sneak out and get new lenses.

If luck was on his side… which, judging by the last day, it clearly wasn’t.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Jason had no plans of getting up, but Tim kicked him out so fast he didn’t even get the chance to think about his most basic need.

He had to pee.

Barely five minutes in bed and he sat up reluctantly. Tim was still stuck in his report, so the path to the bathroom was clear.

But before doing what he needed to do, he figured he could take the chance to bother him a little.

Rush him, with love. He didn’t want the kid showing up with raccoon eyes in front of Alfred… again. Breakfast was early, and Tim needed at least three miserable hours of sleep.

He didn’t knock on the office door before entering. Didn’t announce himself. Just pushed it open carefully, almost stealthily.

And then the image hit him full force.

Tim, with his mouth slightly open and lips tight, leaning back while holding one eye open with one hand, and with the other, pulling out a contact lens. The plastic finally gave way, and Tim bent forward, his jaw so clenched it looked like even his neck hurt.

Jason swallowed hard. Too many things exploded in his head at once. Too many ideas, all tangled and crashing into each other as he watched him straighten up to repeat the same ritual with the other eye.

He felt dizzy. Glued to the floor while Tim let out an exhausted huff and collapsed into the chair, finally relaxed, both lenses tucked away in a case.

Tim… wore contact lenses?

He stepped back, almost on reflex, his mind sluggish. His movements were so slow he barely managed to get out of the way when Tim left the office. He didn’t see him. Didn’t notice. Walked right past, eyes on the floor, lids half-closed, heading for the bathroom.

Jason stepped back faster this time, nearly tripping as he rushed back to the bedroom. He dropped onto the bed, sinking into the sheets while sleep slipped through his fingers, replaced by a flood of questions impossible to silence.

But above all, one kept burning in his head, lodged right where all the others blurred:

If Tim wore lenses… a natural soulmate blocker…

Why did he?

Why hadn’t… he told him?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It took Tim almost thirty minutes to finally get to bed. His eye was still burning, rejecting any new contact with that strange, irritating plastic. In the end, he gave up. Tomorrow he’d have to wake up earlier to resume the lost battle against the lenses. Right now, he couldn’t take any more.

He lay down on the bed, blindly reaching for Jason’s warmth. He was way too tense for someone who was supposedly asleep.

“You’re awake.”

It wasn’t a question. Jason’s stiff, unmoving body gave him away.

“No,” Jason mumbled.

If Tim had enough energy to roll his eyes, he would’ve.

“What are you doing awake?” he pressed, almost desperate. He needed to think about anything other than the feeling that his eyes were about to fall out of their sockets.

Jason didn’t answer. He just turned over, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him close. The warmth was a welcome relief after the lens torture.

Tim buried his face in his chest, avoiding the gaze he knew was coming.

“I didn’t think Bruce would accept it this easily,” he said at last, just to break the heavy air building between them.

“Me neither,” Jason whispered. “Or that Dick would.”

“Or that Cass would be this calm about it.”

It’s not that he believed any of them would secretly oppose, but the fact that all of them accepted it so easily… lit something in his chest he couldn’t allow himself to feed.

Jason spoke again, this time with a slight tremor in his voice.
Too slight.

“If Cass is okay with it, Steph shouldn’t dwell on it too much, right?”

Tim offered a faint smile, almost invisible against Jason’s shirt.

“No, but that won’t make her any less intense. She’ll want a long talk. Exhaustive.”

Jason’s embrace tightened around him.

“But you’ve got a hyper-detailed plan for that, with every possible branching outcome, right?” he asked with a tone halfway between teasing and tender.

Tim let out a soft laugh and gave him a weak punch to the chest.

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

Jason hummed, thoughtful.

“A Machiavellian genius I’m grateful is one of the good guys.”

Tim clicked his tongue, brushing off the compliment.

“I know Damian won’t care,” he said, changing the subject. “And Duke will be happy. So… are you worried about Alfred?”

Jason sighed, burying his face in his hair.

“I don’t like lying to him… and I thought Bruce would throw a fit. That he’d pull away for months to avoid facing this.”

“That was too optimistic a thought,” Tim murmured. “Bruce wasn’t going anywhere. It would’ve been chaos.”

“And I would’ve hit him with the Superman card, so he’d decide on his own not to talk to me for a year.”

This time, Tim did roll his eyes, regretting it instantly. He squeezed them shut, stifling a groan.

“Leave Clark out of this. The man tried to be subtle, but with all those rumors about your ‘mystic magic’… even he looked you in the eyes. And nothing happened.”

Jason clenched his jaw.

“His whole world stopped existing a long time ago. No one like him left,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not a god, or a creator of perfect stories.”

Tim didn’t respond. It was devastating to watch him let go of what little hope he had left. At least Batman had been there to give him comfort. In his own… strange way.

Jason let out a tired huff.

“Let’s be as honest as we can with Alfred. No need to go into details about the ‘magic’ or the rumors. Just… mention that we’re done with Bruce deciding for us, and that we found some common ground.”

Tim nodded silently.

“It’ll be half a lie, half the truth.”

Jason laughed in a low murmur, shifting to get closer, searching for his gaze.
Tim didn’t lift his head; he just buried himself back in his chest.
And Jason said nothing.
He never did.

“Now let’s… actually sleep,” he said at last, voice thin. “I want to look presentable for breakfast.”

A brief silence followed. A single second that weighed more than expected, tightening his chest without knowing exactly why.

“Alright… Good night, Tim,” Jason whispered.

Tim let out a soft “night,” already half asleep, finally letting his body relax.

Tomorrow he’d have to shape the speech for Alfred. Rehearse every variant so Jason would be ready. Simulate every possible branch of his next conversation with Steph.

But tonight… tonight he was just going to rest. Surrounded by Jason’s warmth and that faint scent of soap still clinging to his skin.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The apartment alarm tore them from sleep like a clawed swipe. The light bathed the room in violent flashes, and the sound vibrated against the soundproof walls.

Tim let out a muffled curse as he shot upright and launched himself toward the office. Jason followed close behind, nearly brushing his back.

The computer was still on, all critical information displayed. Jason cursed even louder upon reaching it and, without a second thought, spun around to go for his arsenal.

Tim grabbed the communicator next to the keyboard, leaning in to read the data flashing on the screen.

Barbara’s voice came through the line, breathless, barely contained by urgency:

⟪Red, I need you and Hood in coordination. Beta and Alpha points.⟫

The screen.

The farthest one.

The one that was just a blurry smudge to his foggy eyes.

He stepped closer, squinting in a useless effort to make out the alerts and videos. And then he saw it: the Joker, laughing like a maniac as he raised a detonator over a packed bridge.

"How fast are your little soldiers, Batman?!" —the laughter exploded through the broadcast— "Let’s see if they can find all the little gifts I left hidden in your adorable city!"

The news confirmed it: the button had already been pressed. A countdown of minutes before Gotham burned.

"What are you doing?!" —Jason roared as he burst through the door, fully armed— "We don’t have time! Change, for fuck’s sake!"

Tim looked at him. A human blur standing on the threshold, just a silhouette against the light. He blinked to focus. Nothing.

No glasses.

And there was no time to put them on. Not this time.

He was almost blind. Compromised. And teamed up with Jason.

At least, he thought bitterly, the helmet was a barrier. An artificial distance. Just enough not to risk looking up and falling into a trap even more dangerous than the bombs: the reflection of his soulmate in Jason’s eyes.

"I'm going," he said at last.

He grabbed a baton from the drawer, a shorter one, lighter. He passed Jason without looking at him and went for the suit. He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He armored himself for the battle that awaited them.

To not become dead weight.

To not drag him down.

He forced himself to move forward. To shove the anguish down into his gut, as if he could trap it there, between his guts and his fear.

Because the last thing he wanted...

The last thing he feared...

Was that the lie, older and quieter than all the others, would explode tonight.

And he’d find himself, among the smoke and the flames, face to face with his soulmate.

Even though the worst lie of all… was pretending he didn’t want it to be Jason.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

⟪Second floor⟫, Barbara reported in his ear.

Jason didn’t waste a second. He took down the only guard with a sharp blow while Tim threw his body against the door.

Empty. Except for one box. Full of wires, a blinking digital clock, and bombs lined up beneath like teeth ready to snap shut in a deadly bite.

"I need instructions," said Tim, jaw clenched.

Barbara was his eyes. The only one who could guide him through the chromatic chaos. Not the best pairing, but it was all they had left. Bruce was with Damian, Dick with Cass, Steph with Duke. Always in pairs: one who could see the colors, one who couldn’t.

Now, Barbara was all he had.

Her instructions came clear. Precise. Every word calibrated to the millimeter. Tim worked with a surgeon’s precision, hands fast but controlled. One mistake and the whole place would blow.

The bomb was deactivated. The first of two.

"We’re leaving!" he shouted, turning toward the nearest window.

Jason was already behind him. They had to cross half the city, and the chaos in the streets didn’t help. Motorcycles were useless: no clear routes, no open roads.

Running was their only option.

They leapt across rooftops, building by building, dodging chimneys, antennas, and slippery tiles. From that height, they could see the rest of the family’s shadows gliding between points. Helicopters lit up compromised buildings. Sirens tore through the air.

The next building had more guards.

Jason cursed and veered off, looking for a blind spot to launch an attack from. Tim checked the clock. There was no time for detours.

"We don’t have time!" he shouted over the city’s roar.

Jason stopped, looked at him for a second, and nodded. He loaded his weapons and shot him a look, like waiting for a scolding.

"They’re rubber," he said, defending himself.

"I know. I loaded them myself, idiot."

They jumped. The first impact took out those guarding the entrance. Tim moved well with blurred vision, but every bullet grazing his suit reminded him he was a second behind.

"Be more careful!" —Jason shouted from the other side of the store.

"Worry about yourself!"

He took one down with a precise hit and knocked him out. He turned to look for the next, but the space was already empty.

He blinked. He couldn’t locate Jason.

His chest tightened, on alert. The shadows blurred together, and the gray devoured everything. He gripped the baton, his breathing out of control. His vision wasn’t enough. Nothing stood out. Everything was an amorphous mass of darkness.

"Ja... Hood! Red Hood!"

A groan to his right, barely a whisper.

"What are you looking for? Everyone’s on the ground."

Tim exhaled with a tremor. He saw the silhouette move slightly. Still couldn’t focus on him. Didn’t understand what was going on.

"We’ve got another bomb to stop... Red, what are you doing?"

The growl came with the answer.

"I can’t get up. You’re... Red... I’m bleeding."

The baton trembled between his fingers. He ran toward Jason. At that distance, he could make out a bit more. The face twisted in pain. And the dark stain spreading from his leg.

"God... I’m sorry. Let me help you."

He dropped to his knees at once, searching for the medkit. But Jason stopped him, firm, one hand over his.

"My helmet’s not connecting to Oracle, and we have to disarm a bomb. This doesn’t matter," he said with forced calm, but unshakable.

Right. The bomb.

Tim looked around, lost, not knowing where to start.

Jason sighed, taking his face in his hands.

"Red, I’m sitting right on top of it."

Tim let out a strangled gasp and looked up. He could make out, through the gray blur, the faint shape of the dynamite piled beneath Jason.

"God."

Jason laughed, humorless.

"Yeah, let’s pray for a miracle. We’ve got..."

He shifted slightly, revealing a countdown clock: five minutes.

"Shit."

Tim cursed too, springing up to activate his earpiece.

"Red to Oracle. I need support."

Silence.

"Oracle."

Nothing.

Jason leaned over, reaching for his helmet.

"Hood to the rest of the bats. We need support with Red. It’s urgent."

A cruel burst of static. And nothing more.

"The bastard cut the comms," Jason muttered through his teeth. "We’re offline. No backup."

"No eyes," Tim added, voice cracking. "We need to get out of here."

He crouched down again, fumbling for bandages in the medkit. With trembling hands, he improvised a tourniquet around Jason’s leg.

"You’re not gonna be able to carry me and get far enough in... under four minutes."

"Shut up," Tim growled, not letting up on the wound.

"Tim..."

"Don’t you dare say something stupid, Jason..."

He looked up, rage and fear wrestling in his chest. And he froze.

Jason’s eyes. Uncovered. Without the mask.

Tim recoiled on instinct alone. But Jason grabbed his arms, firmly.

"You wear glasses. You know what they do. You know what they block."

Tim went still. He didn’t want this. Not like this. Not with a bomb about to go off beneath their feet.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get up, we need to get out of here."

But Jason didn’t move. He reached out and pulled off the mask.

It wasn’t a gentle gesture. They didn’t have time for gentleness. They didn’t have time for this. But Tim couldn’t make him get up, couldn’t hit him, couldn’t drag him in time either.

Maybe, if he got it over with first... maybe then Jason would cooperate.

His eyes were exposed. But Jason was still too far away. Still a blur.

Tim rested a hand on Jason’s good knee and leaned in. Faster than he wanted to. Slower than he should, with the clock ticking relentlessly.

He blinked.

His breath caught in his lungs.

The color came slowly.

It emerged from the pupil. Black. Then the iris: the shades. More beautiful than any description borrowed from Dick. Warmer, too.

The patches of dirt on Jason’s golden skin. The hair just as dark, but with a shine he’d never been able to catch.

And then, everything else.

The red. Of countdown on the watch. Of the dynamite. Of Jason’s helmet, lying on the floor.

"Shit."

He shot to his feet, eyes locked on the wires in front of him. Jason was still motionless. Frozen.

He didn’t think. Let instinct take over, hands moving with the rhythm of training and urgency. He cut the wires in the exact order, no room for error. He knew what he was doing.

And all the while, the heat of Jason’s hand, the one that had touched his cheek, kept burning on his skin.

Tim collapsed beside Jason. The clock had exactly fifteen seconds left when it stopped. The comms were still dead, and the silence that wrapped around them was thick, dense, uncomfortable.

Like it hadn’t felt in years.

“You…”

Jason’s voice broke just as a gust of wind brushed their backs. The silhouette of Damian struggling against Jon appeared, framed by the light. Jon held him aloft, arms firm around him like he knew that if he let go, Gotham wouldn’t survive the fury.

“Let go of me! Jon, I swear, I’m putting kryptonite in your cereal if you don’t take me back to my father.”

Jon looked at them with a mix of pleading and guilt stamped on his young face. His eyes flicked from Jason to Tim like he was waiting for a magical explanation that never came.

“What are you doing?”

Damian turned, only just noticing him there.

“Father used the emergency code and Jon came to drag me out —” he growled through his teeth “— when it wasn’t necessary! How do you leave my father without eyes?”

“Oracle…”

“WE DON’T HAVE COMMS! You don’t get it, you damned son of—!”

The explosion stole the rest of his words.

A sharp, brutal blast rocked the other end of the city. Everyone snapped to alert in an instant.

Damian’s eyes locked, filled with panic, in the direction of the impact. Tim sprang to his feet, pulling his mask back on. He didn’t speak. Didn’t wait.

He fired his grappling hook to the roof and, with no windows to stop him, soared through the skylight with surgical precision.

What he saw on the other side turned his stomach.

Smoke. Rising like an endless column into the sky. Flames devouring a part of the city. Still distant, but the heat kissed his skin like a whispered warning.

One of the bombs had gone off.

He looked down. Damian, limp in Jon’s arms, eyes locked on the fire. Jason, still on the floor, met his gaze. His face uncovered, no mask to protect him, laid bare the raw, unfiltered pain carved across his features.

The static in his ear dissolved. And then came the phrase he needed to hear:

⟪All safe. Fall back. Now⟫

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They didn’t speak. No one said a word aloud. Not with all the bats nearby, side by side, sharing the same oxygen soaked with exhaustion.

Alfred treated Jason, of course. Mandatory rest.

Where? Where else. At the apartment he shared with his now officially proclaimed partner.

But Tim couldn’t think about that. Not now.

Damian was still yelling. Jon trying to restrain him. Bruce on the verge of collapse, with that suicidal air that surfaced every time everything fell apart. Superman had left as soon as he dropped Bruce off in the cave. Everything pulsed in Tim’s head like a bomb that never quite exploded.

And all he wanted was a hug from Jason…

When had they become something, even without naming it?

But let’s get back to Bruce. Something else had happened. He could feel it. The silence. Thicker than ever. And it couldn’t be just because of the explosion in the city. They’d had too many of those. So many they didn’t bother to count them anymore. So many that blaming themselves was a useless drain.

This was different. He sensed it. Felt it in his bones.

He blinked. His eyes burned. Without his glasses, and with his vision saturated by colors he could no longer filter, it felt like the light was burning him from the inside. As if the whole visible spectrum were trying to punch through his corneas by force.

He didn’t hate it. But with everything so sharp and so overwhelming at once, the vertigo was more constant than ever.

Jason appeared beside him, leaning on a crutch.

“Wanna go back to the apartment and talk?”

Straight to the point. As always. And goddamn, he loved that about him.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Master Jason,” Alfred chimed in, with that firm but gentle tone of his. “We all need rest, especially you. There are more than enough of us to close out the night.”

Dick stepped up beside Alfred.

“You can send the report later. From your apartment. Go now.” Then he turned to the rest of the team. “I want reports of your movements tonight on Bruce’s desk in a few hours.”

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

“Get some rest,” Dick insisted. “Leave the rest to the police. We’d just be in the way, and I don’t want anyone in jail tonight for disobedience.”

The looks bounced between Steph and Damian, but no one said a word.

One by one, the team members began to disperse. Heading up to the manor, mounting their bikes. Melting into the darkness.

Everyone, except Bruce and Dick.

"Home. Both of you," Dick ordered, pointing at Jason. "And I don’t want to hear your wound reopened from patrolling or... unnecessary exercise."

"Like having sex?" Jason shot back, a sharp, mocking smile on his face.

At the same time, Tim said:

"There are ways to do it without reopening the wound."

Dick groaned, stumbling back with a dry, scandalized gasp.

"Out. Both of you. Now."

Tim and Jason exchanged a look.

A little brighter. Warmer. Deeper. In a color that made Tim feel like he could drown in it, and still be happy to do so.

Nothing had really changed between them.

They still circled each other like before. Only now there was a more concrete reason to do so. Now it was allowed.

And it would be okay. They were going to be okay.

Jason pointed to his own eyes, a brief, teasing gesture.

"We need to talk. You know that."

True. Direct, no beating around the bush. Leaving nothing unsaid.

And he liked that about him, too.

Jason watched him from the couch, following his every move with the intensity of someone memorizing something precious.

The case felt heavy in his hands as he opened it slowly. Not the contacts, of course not. Those were getting burned later. These were the regular ones, the ones with frames. A simple and elegant model.

He unfolded the temples and put them on. There was no ceremony in putting on glasses, but Jason wanted to see them. And Tim couldn’t say no.

The color turned clearer. Sharper. He blinked, frowning slightly as his pupils adjusted to the rawness of the light.

"It’s way too bright, isn’t it?" Jason asked.

Jason.

In simple clothes, skin damp and hair still dripping. The scars on his body stood out under the new contrast, wounds Tim knew by heart, now more vivid in color. And he was watching him closely with, without a doubt, his favorite color.

"A bit, yeah."

With a crooked grin, Jason patted the empty side of the couch. Tim dropped beside him, glancing his way.

"The couch is horrible," he added after a second.

Jason laughed, tilting his head with conspiratorial amusement.

"Dick gave it to you. Were you expecting anything better?"

"Not really," Tim sighed.

Silence wrapped around them. That same comfortable bubble, just like always. Only then did he dare to really look at him.

A little closer. A little deeper. Noticing every freckle, every imperfection across the pink tone of his cheeks. The length of his lashes. The red of his lips.

He could learn colors all over again just by watching him. Every part of his body was a new map, full of unexplored paths to travel.

Jason reached a hand out between them. A silent question. A wordless invitation.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He had no reason to. He’d already given him his soul, and Jason had held it without breaking it.

It wasn’t the first time they held hands. But this time felt different.

Jason’s hand wrapped around his, big and firm. Tim’s fingers, pale in comparison, looked tiny against his skin. And he liked how they fit.

"What do you want to know?" he asked at last, lifting his gaze to meet those eyes.

"What do you want to tell me?" Jason replied, gently. Without pushing. Without reproach. Without rushing him. Letting Tim set the pace.

"Everything," he murmured, heart pounding hard. The sound echoed in his ears. "And I want to know everything about you, too."

Jason’s breath hitched, but he nodded. His lips parted in a sigh before he spoke.

"It hurt to be used by people looking to find their destiny. Way more than I ever let on."

Tim hummed, low, thoughtful.

"I was never ready to face my soulmate… and for them not to be what everyone said," he whispered. "How... did you know?"

Jason leaned in, the blush on his cheeks darkening.

"I saw you take them off last night. You fought them like they were ripping your soul out."

"Maybe they were," Tim added, not looking away.

"Maybe," Jason echoed, with a half-smile. "Was that the only reason you wore glasses?"

Tim shrugged, squeezing the hand he held a little tighter.

He’d already forgotten what the first reason had been… and why he never took them off. There was always a new excuse. A different reason to keep the world at a distance.

"I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough for my soulmate."

Jason shifted, locking eyes with him.

"You’re more than perfect," he said, with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

The warmth spread through his whole body. His heart beat so hard it hurt. His breath, caught in his throat.

"You... Why did you decide to pretend we were dating?"

Jason looked at him, deeper this time. Almost without blinking.

"There were... several reasons," he murmured, and the grip on his hand grew firmer, more urgent. "We know each other so well it couldn’t go wrong."

He licked his lips.

"You know me well. Better than anyone. You know, when we fought in the tower, we both had masks on, so I didn’t think much of it. But later, when everything calmed down, when I wanted to come back..."

He let out a rough laugh, under his breath, full of self-directed reproach.

And Tim’s heart clenched.

"When you came back," he repeated firmly. "I still couldn’t see your eyes. I patrolled in my zone, you in yours. When we crossed paths, there was always something between us. And I didn’t care."

Jason sighed, his shoulders dropping, defeated. Tim squeezed his hand, a silent push to keep going.

"Until I did care," he confessed with a small smile. "I wanted so badly to see your eyes, to tear off this pressure in my chest that tied my heart with ropes. Tighter and tighter."

"Just breathe," Tim interrupted him, unable to help himself.

Jason obeyed. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face.

"So, I couldn’t see you, but I saw the world. Everyone who crossed my path crashing into their fate like in some teenage movie."

The smile faded. His face twisted into a grimace full of pain.

"Until I saw them. At the dinner. I had hope. When nothing happened, I felt like I broke inside."

"Me too," Tim murmured. "I felt like I was hollowed out."

"Like I was suffocating while I breathed."

They stayed like that. Throats closed. Eyes burning. Tears right at the edge.

"I’m sorry," Tim whispered.

Jason shook his head instantly.

"No, it’s not something you could’ve known. Neither of us could."

"Still..."

"Still, nothing," Jason cut him off.

His gaze hardened. Eyes narrowing, brow furrowing.

"You don’t get to blame yourself for that shit. Got it?"

Tim nodded, slowly.

"I was an idiot that night," Jason said. "I’m the one who should be apologizing."

"You already did. You gave me chocolates... and a hard drive with over two terabytes."

Jason smiled, amused.

"You still have it?"

"It’s full, but yeah. I kept it," Tim replied, with a wide smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Another silence. Softer. Lighter. Like letting go of a weight carried for too long.

"I started falling for you before I even realized it, you know?" Jason murmured.

Tim chuckled softly.

"I had a spark that never went out," he took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "It only grew stronger since you came back."

"I also... was afraid you’d find someone," Jason said, voice trembling.

Tim looked up, resting his cheek on their entwined hands. Jason went on:

"It was a possibility. Easier for you than for me," he took a deep breath. "So, when Bruce started pushing more, I just... wanted something more."

Tim hummed, gently, encouraging him to keep going.

"I wanted to take whatever little you’d give me and treasure it," he let out the breath. "Because having something... even if it was little... even if it was temporary... was better than having nothing."

Tim’s lips trembled. He hid behind Jason’s hand, seeking shelter.

"That’s why I asked you out. Because I saw you so close to leaving... that I couldn’t let it happen without doing something first."

Tim sighed, squeezing his hand tightly.

"That won’t happen anymore," he promised in a soft thread of voice, with a gentle smile. "For either of us."

Jason’s smile faltered, but ended up stretching across his face.

"Now that I have you, I’m not letting go."

With his free hand, Jason held up Tim’s glasses in front of him.

"How close do I have to be for you to see me?" he murmured, slowly taking them off.

Tim’s breath caught. He stared at the blurred shape in front of him, clinging to the moment.

"Not yet," he whispered.

Jason leaned in a little, coming closer without rushing.

"Closer."

His smile softened. He took another step, another breath of distance erased.

"A little more."

Tim’s voice trembled. It was low, restrained, like the very air hurt. He leaned in too, closing the space between them.

The image started to take shape. To sharpen. To fill with color. Jason’s eyes looked at him, warm, bright. And Tim’s heart pounded like a wild drum.

"Just... a little closer."

Jason leaned in. So did Tim.

He didn’t need to see for this. He closed his eyes as the last few centimeters disappeared, as one hand gripped his tightly, and another held him by the cheek.

Their lips barely brushed. An electric spark. Shared breath. Contained desire exploding at the edges of silence.

"More," was all he said.

And their lips met with the urgency of an endless wait. With the hunger of years of longing. No softness. No restraint. Devouring each other like the world was about to collapse.

The softness of skin melted into the fury of their movements. Jason let go of his hand to grab his waist. Tim shifted, swinging a leg over his lap.

"Ouch."

The whimper stopped everything.

Tim pulled back at once, face flushed, eyes fixed on Jason’s now tense lips, which had tightened into a thin line as he held his injured leg.

"I’m sorry," he said at once, overwhelmed with shame.

"I’ve had worse. This is just a scratch," Jason grunted, though the grimace never left his mouth.

"Alfred said rest," Tim murmured, letting out a sigh. "And Dick said no exercise."

Jason looked at him as if he’d just betrayed a sacred cause.

"Since when do we listen to Dick?"

Tim shook his head firmly.

"Since you have a bullet wound," he answered without hesitation. "Come on, it’s late. You need sleep."

He picked up the glasses that had been left behind on the couch and put them back on.

"I’ll finish the report. I’ll join you in a bit."

Jason watched him in silence. A quiet battle he lost with resignation.

"Am I the little spoon?"

Tim let out a soft laugh, one that lit up his whole face.

"Of course."

And because he could. Because now he could, he leaned toward Jason and stole a quick kiss.

"I’ll be done soon," he murmured against his lips.

Jason hummed, like someone refusing to be left behind.

He leaned in for another kiss.

And another.

And one more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The sun was shining. Birds were singing. The cup of tea warmed his hand. And the other... the other was laced with Jason’s.

Alfred watched them with a mix of tenderness and genuine joy.

"I’m glad you two decided to start dating, even without being soulmates."

Jason gave his hand a soft squeeze. They shared a silent look, loaded with meaning.

Admitting they were soulmates meant too much.

It meant Tim had to admit he’d worn glasses all this time. That he’d chosen not to see. That he’d kept color, destiny, and everything it implied at bay.

It meant Jason had no real reason to avoid eye contact. That his rejection of Bruce’s matchmaking wasn’t anything but a form of quiet sabotage.

And worst of all... it meant that all the people he’d helped with a glance, with fleeting encounters born of his influence... had been part of a lie. A game even he didn’t want to be playing.

Because it made it feel like what they had, what they were, existed only because destiny said so. As if their love was conditional, trapped in a soulbound cage. Not chosen. Not built.

And neither of them wanted that.

So they didn’t say it.

It was a harder lie to keep, true. But Barbara knew. She still had access to the apartment’s cameras. And what she heard, especially about Jason’s wound care... was devastating.

Tim had started disconnecting all the cameras. Erasing traces. Shielding their home from her.

But that would come later.

Now they had breakfast with Alfred.

And they were here.

Together. Solid. In spite of everything.

"I wouldn’t want it any other way," Jason said, a warm smile on his lips.

Tim drew a deep breath. With their feelings laid bare, holding back his heart’s reaction was getting harder and harder.

"No... not in any other way."

Alfred smiled, nodding with that proud father look only he could wear with such grace. He took a sip of his tea, and a comfortable silence settled between the three of them.

Until the hurricane called Damian Wayne burst in like peace had never existed.

"Do you guys have kryptonite?!"

Jason stared at him, bewildered.

"What?"

Alfred let out a deep sigh, without letting go of the cup.

“You cannot put kryptonite in your boyfriend’s cereal, Master Damian. That is indecent.”

Tim raised his free hand.

“I have some. But explain first.”

Damian clicked his tongue, annoyed.

“Lois Lane is dragging Superman and my father into having an honest conversation. Just because they found out they’re soulmates.”

Jason choked on his tea.

“What the hell?!”

“Language,” Alfred scolded him, in a tired tone.

“I knew something happened during the explosion!” Tim exclaimed, throwing his arms up in victory… only to let them fall heavily to his sides. “But… Damian… why do you want kryptonite? I thought you liked Superman.”

Damian growled, crossing his arms.

“My father and Superman cannot have a relationship. The last thing I want is for them to end up together, and for my relationship with Jon to get as weird as yours.”

Jason opened his mouth, outraged.

“I’m still legally dead! There are no papers tying me to the Waynes! And there’s nothing weird about our relationship!”

Tim raised an eyebrow, doubting silently. He wasn’t entirely sure he could back him up on that.

He took the cup and turned it in his hands, gently swirling the contents.

“In theory, Clark is married to Lois,” he chimed in, drawing their attention. “The least weird outcome of that conversation is a mutual adult agreement.”

Alfred’s breath trembled. The three of them looked at him as if they’d just heard blasphemy.

Tim shrugged, completely unrepentant.

“Just saying.”

As if Clark and Bruce hadn’t been sighing over each other for years.

As if Lois didn’t have good taste in men.

They were adults. They’d definitely figure it out.

He took a slow sip of tea, amused, under those accusatory stares that didn’t affect him in the slightest.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They had returned to the apartment. Alfred had offered for them to stay a bit longer, to have lunch. But they were honest: they just wanted to rest.

They had the rest of the day ahead, and the night would be long. Especially for Jason, who was still benched until further notice.

“Movie?” he asked, sitting on the couch.

“I’ll make popcorn.”

It was… routine. Nothing different from what they always did. Almost like they’d been dating for months, only without naming it.

A long-running joke. One with no punchline.

He understood why they hadn’t realized it sooner. It’s hard to see what’s right in front of your nose, but the rest… Two great detectives and neither of them…

The hand lingered over the stove, without turning it on.

He turned slowly on his axis, only to meet Jason’s gaze.

Standing in the doorway. Tense. His face tight. His eyes wide open.

Tim drew a deep breath.

“Barbara?”

His voice came out low, but loud inside the silence of the apartment.

A grimace formed on Jason’s face, leaning into the doorway with his weight.

“Tim… did something happen?”

Tim swallowed hard. Jason’s breath seemed to fail halfway through.

“Did you guys know about this?”

He didn’t say that “this” meant him and Jason. He didn’t think it was necessary. Barbara understood immediately.

“We had… suspicions.”

“Who?” Jason asked, in a low growl.

Barbara’s voice came out hesitant, almost trembling.

“Everyone.”

Tim groaned, pressing a knuckle to the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t say anything, but Jason did.

“How many knew about Tim… and his glasses?”

Tim tensed immediately, realizing the detail.

Barbara knew. No way she walked around his apartment and didn’t notice the glasses.

“Me… Bruce… and Alfred,” she answered.

Tim let out a bitter laugh.

“Of course. I’m not that good at hiding things from Bruce.”

Jason stared at him for a moment. The silence stretched. And stretched.

Tim held his gaze, waiting.

“How many believed… you know… that Tim and I are soulmates?”

Barbara sighed, defeated.

“Me… Bruce… and Alfred,” she repeated, like a resigned mantra. “We… had a feeling. With Jason hanging around Tim since the Christmas dinner, and Tim wearing his glasses… it was hard not to suspect.”

“That explains why Bruce accepted it so quickly,” Tim muttered under his breath. “Cass and Dick… what do they know?”

Jason sighed, walking toward him with the cane. His steps slow but determined.

“Dick figured. He’s been mentally preparing for this to happen for months,” he said, a broken little laugh in his voice. “Cass is Cass. She probably knew before anyone.”

Jason huffed.

“Everyone probably knew before we did,” Jason paused, frowning slightly. “If everyone already suspected. If maybe there was even a bet going on about it… why the insistence on talking to Alfred?”

A soft, amused sound came from the speakers.

“Because you wouldn’t lie to the man,” Barbara replied, “and that would make it a little more real for you two. It was the best push we could give you… without interfering directly.”

Jason gasped, closing the distance. Tim reached out, holding him carefully by the waist. Jason let his head fall into the crook of his neck.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Tim murmured. “In the end, we chose each other.”

Jason hummed, in agreement.

Silence wrapped around them. Comfortable. Almost… final. As if the last doubts had finally been put to rest.

They’d still have to talk to Alfred. And Bruce. Clear everything up for good.

Make the man happy, at last.

Be honest with Alfred… completely.

But only them.

At least… for now.