I hate when they make you describe yourself on the first day of school like???? me????? tired angry egg trying to live an honest life
I don’t think this even makes any actual sense, to be honest, but I had to get it out of my brain.
Title: Color me Whole
Summary: When they are together, when they make love, it is far from nice. (( It’s a poetic-y sort of piece))
*interacts with people*
*has to take a four hour nap*
Jason has four theories as to why the skinny kid who lives upstairs buys a single flower every morning.
One: he has a Person that he gives the flower to every day. This one makes him disappointed because, okay, the skinny kid who lives upstairs is pretty cute, with his messy hair and his sleepy squint and an impressive number of sweatshirts that are really too big for him. And if the skinny kid who lives upstairs has a Person, capital-p-implied, then that means that he probably doesn’t want Jason to blush like he does when the kid sneezes (he sneezes like an adorable explosive cat, if anyone was wondering. No? Okay then).
Two: he goes to visit a grave every day, and the flower is for a loved one there. This one Jason finds hard to bear thinking of, not only because it hits rather close to home, but also because it means the cute, messy-haired skinny kid who lives upstairs has lost someone that he loves enough to buy a flower for every day. Jason has lived in Gotham his whole life, more than long enough to know that loss is as much a part of the city as the omnipresent gargoyles and rust; still, he wouldn’t wish that kind of grief on anyone but those who cause it.
Three: he’s one of those goodwill-pass-on-the-happiness type people and gives the flower away to someone who needs a little happiness or whatever. (Jason realizes this is weak, especially since the skinny kid who lives upstairs is always clutching coffee with a death grip in the mornings and likely does not have goodwill to pass on before eleven.)
Four, and he’s really embarrassed about this theory because it’s very vain and wishful, but: the kid who lives upstairs, with the messy hair and coffee and oversized sweatshirts, buys a flower every day because maybe, just maybe and with a little luck, the kid thinks Jason is as cute as Jason thinks he is. Maybe. If Jason, somehow, has pleased someone upstairs.
It’s taken him nearly a month to gather these theories, to carefully build them in his mind in the long, boring hours between customers. It takes another two weeks for Jason to finally ask the question, one soggy morning where the kid’s sweatshirt says something about acrobats.
“Why do you buy just one flower every morning?” he bursts out, totally not as gracefully and calmly as he imagined. But it’s been bothering him for a long time, alright?
To his surprise the kid’s face slowly turns the color of a beet and mumbled something into the lip of his coffee cup.
The kid lifts his eyes to Jason, and wow, okay, blue like that one kind of china. Wow.
“I think,” the skinny kid who lives upstairs strangles out, “that I am allergic to one of your flowers. And I’m trying to figure out which one it is.”
Jason blinks at him. “That’s a terrible plan.”
“No it isn’t,” the kid scowls, nudging the dark red freesia closer to Jason. “I figure out which one make me sneeze and rash up, presto.”
“And then what?” Jason snaps back, unimpressed. “You’ll take your itching, sneezing, hive-ridden self every night to my shop and burn all the flowers that make you sneezy?”
He turned even redder. “I can take Benadryl. Or something.”
“Yeah, or something. Clearly someone as dependent on coffee as you shouldn’t take medicine with a drowsy warning label, kid.”
“I,” the kid sniffed, “am only three years younger than you.”
“How would you know?” Jason says, and narrows his eyes at the kid. He’s not actually upset, because frankly there’s not much on any file about him that he wouldn’t freely share, for the most part. But it’s worth it, because the kid starts twitching a bit, and it’s very cute.
“I might have,” he sighs, and decides to tell the truth. It’s written on his face. “I might have looked you up. For safety reasons!”
Jason laughs, a little nervously. “I’m sure. Well, since you clearly know about my colorful past, can I know your name?”
The tomato color, just starting to fade from the kid’s forehead and cheeks, comes flaring straight back. “Tim. Tim Drake.”
“Well,” he grins, suddenly jubilant. “Tim, you don’t have to buy a flower. I can just give you a scrap flower in the mornings, okay?”
The skinny kid who lives upstairs smiles back. And boy, is it a knockout.
(The mystery is solved.)
Um. I guess… growth headcanons??? haha
what a day!!!!!!!! nothing happened and i was tired
robin and batgirl by phil noto