Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wally’s got the biggest shit-eating grin on his dumb face- Dick doesn’t know if it is because he just came from Artemis’ apartment, or because Dick is trying to find a decent shirt after telling him everything that had happened almost a week ago. 

They’ve been messaging a lot since Conner left the hospital. They’ve talked on the phone a few times, but Dick hasn’t seen him in person since the morning before Conner had been discharged. 

Dick thinks it’s for the better. He’s had to cover for a fellow nurse on top of his usual extra shift. Not to mention, according to Conner (and a few texts from Tim), it’s not like he’s done anything but sleep, eat bland foods and go stir-crazy from not being able to go out, not even on short walks. 

I’m not the best company right now , Conner had texted two days after being discharged from the hospital. Dick hadn’t pushed, even though he’d really wanted to skip work for at least a day to become Conner’s personal nurse… preferably until he made a full recovery. A concussion was a concussion no matter how mild, and he’d forced himself to give Conner the time and space he needed, because… well, it was the least he could do, after the rift he’d caused before Conner had ended up with a concussion. 

It seems Conner is recovering well, though, given that he’d called Dick a day earlier and asked him if he’d like to come over for dinner. Since Dick had been clinging to his sanity every day to not show up at Conner’s apartment unannounced, he’d blurted out an enthusiastic “Yes!” before Conner had even finished asking. 

“Your face will freeze like that,” Dick says, abandoning his train of thought. He squashes down the giddy feeling he’s had since Conner called and throws another shirt into the discarded pile that’s already on the bed. 

Wally, lying down next to the shirts and with his arms behind his head, grins up at him. “Pot, meet kettle. You’ve been smiling like an idiot since I walked through the door.” 

Dick frowns, or he tries to, anyway. He doesn’t quite manage, and Wally laughs, propping himself up onto his elbows. 

“Is this where I say, ‘I told you so’? Because I can, and you bet your perky little ass that I will.” Wally pauses for dramatic effect, and then -more dramatic than necessary- he says, “I fucking told you so, Richard.”

Dick doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t argue with his friend either. Wally did tell him so, and Wally had been right about pretty much everything. Dick knows this, but he also knows Wally is smug enough as it is. He doesn’t need Dick to admit defeat to keep gloating. 

“What about this one?” Dick asks instead. He holds up a long-sleeved button-down. 

Wally raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Didn’t you agree on casual for tonight?”

“We did.” During their call, Conner had also asked him if it was okay if they kept a casual dress code for their date. Dick had almost let it slip that as long as he got to see Conner, nothing else mattered. He’d bitten his tongue in time and had simply blurted out another enthusiastic “Yes!”

 “Then maybe a shirt with peacocks on it isn’t the most casual option, Dickie,” Wally points out.

Dick turns the shirt from one side to the other. “These aren’t peacocks. It’s a peacock feather print.” 

“Dude.”

Dick puts the shirt down. “All right, maybe it’s too much, but you have to admit it goes nicely with this.” He holds up his hands as he finishes speaking, showing off his shiny dark blue nails. 

Wally evaluates them. “They would go well, actually. You did them yourself?”

“Almost.” He’d asked Donna for the name of the shiny stuff, and he’d videocalled her and gotten step-by-step assistance from Lian earlier in the day. He thinks he did a decent job. “So? You still think the peacock shirt isn’t a good idea?”

Wally hums. He looks Dick over and doesn’t bother being subtle about it. 

Dick ends up looking down at himself too. He’s wearing tight black jeans, chelsea boots and still no shirt. He could go with blue to match the nails and also because he knows he looks great in blue, but he could also go with a tight white shirt and layer the peacock shirt on top. 

“How about—” he begins, and then a shirt hits him in the face. 

“No,” Wally says. “Casual, keep it casual, Dick. And I refuse to think white even ran through your mind. This is a cooking date. You’d be setting yourself up for failure with a white shirt.” 

Knowing Wally makes a really good point, Dick sighs and holds up the shirt Wally threw at him. It’s a simple black t-shirt with a scoop neck. He hasn’t worn it in a while. It hugs his chest and waist nicely, but he hasn’t been anywhere he could show it off in… far too long. 

“Nice choice,” he ends up saying and slips it over his head. 

“It was at the bottom of the pile,” Wally says, tone dry. 

Dick hums and walks into his bathroom to do something with his hair and put on some of the cologne Conner had complimented at the movie theater. He comes back out a few minutes later and does a little spin. “How do I look?” 

Wally sits up on the bed. He gives Dick the critical eye again, and after a few seconds, he nods in approval. 

“You look ready to get fucked to your heart’s content,” he announces. 

Dick shrugs. He very much doubts they’ll do anything but eat and talk tonight, but he’s okay with that. If things change and evolve throughout the night and he ends up spending the night, great. He’ll happily go with the flow if that’s the case, but a part of him knows the chances are slim.

“Great, then I better get going,” is all he says to Wally. He grabs Conner’s jacket -the one he never returned- and exits his room, heading to the living room. Once there, he grabs his wallet, keys and a pack of beef treats that he’d gotten for Krypto. 

“I’m leaving now,” he calls, tucking everything under one arm and walking towards the front door. 

Wally is at his side in a flash. He eyes the treats but doesn’t comment on them.  “Aren’t you leaving kind of early?” he asks instead. “Doesn’t your new beau live like a ten-minute walk from here?”

“He does, and yes, but maybe I want to be there kind of early. Maybe I also have to stop by a bakery and pick up some bread I ordered. Ever thought about that?” 

Wally rolls his eyes. “I feel like we’re back in high school, and I didn’t even know you back then.” 

“You know, that might have been interesting. I wasn’t into guys in my teens, but I did have a thing for redheads for a while. If we’d gone to high school together we’d have probably had really shitty dates and even shittier sex a couple of times.” 

Wally bursts out laughing. “Jesus. Too much information, Dickie. You’re probably right, though.”

“Were you into guys back then?”

“Half the time I wanted to convince myself I only liked girls. The other half I was convinced I would tap anything and anyone that moved. Then college happened and I realized: yep, anyone who moved was the way to go.” 

Dick laughs as well. “Guess our big revelations came from the same place, huh, Walls?” 

“Guess so,” Wally agrees, amused. He grabs the doorknob, holds the door open and says, “Mr. Grayson?”

“How nice of you,” Dick says dryly, and walks outside. Wally closes the door. Dick locks it, and they walk down the driveway together. 

Dick points right. “I’m heading that way. Talk to you soon?”

“Not too soon, I hope. I mean, I’ll expect all sorts of details later, but, like…” Wally grins at him, and there’s as much encouragement in it as there is mischief. “Enjoy your date, Dick. Get your world rocked. Be happy tonight. Let yourself be happy, you idiot.”

Dick’s chest tightens, but he smiles back. “I will,” he says, and with God as his witness, he will enjoy every last moment of today’s date, even if it’s the last thing he does. 

Conner’s building is one of those nice and modern places that has plants sprouting from every window. It looks relaxed, clean, well-kept, and nothing like any apartment building Dick ever saw in Gotham. 

Dick takes a left once inside the shiny, airy lobby. Just like Conner had described in an earlier message, he comes face-to-face with the elevator and the stairs. The only other apartment building he’d seen with an elevator had been Bruce’s, and that one had led straight to the doctor’s penthouse. 

As soon as the unpleasant thought hits him, Dick heads for the stairs and doesn’t look back. 

He’s whistling a nameless tune by the time he gets to the fourth floor. Once he gets there, he walks down the hall until he gets to the glossy door with 9D on top. 

He stares at the door for a minute. At some point coming up the stairs, a swarm of butterflies had decided to take up residence inside him, and he could almost feel a thousand pairs of tiny wings fluttering nervously against his stomach. 

Then again, the nerves are probably all his and not theirs. 

With slow and careful movements, he folds Conner’s jacket over one arm and accommodates the fresh focaccia and treats under the same one. He takes a deep breath, decides to ignore the invisible butterflies, and raises his other hand. 

He knocks on the door, three quick taps of his knuckles against the shiny wood. He counts the seconds: one, two, three, four—

Krypto barks. 

“Coming,” Conner calls from inside, and the invisible butterflies decide to disappear as quickly as they had appeared. 

Five more seconds, and the door swings open. 

“Hello,” Conner greets. 

Dick’s breath catches in his throat. 

Conner is wearing a long-sleeved black and red flannel. The sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, the top buttons undone with a sliver of collarbone and white bandages peeking through. He’s wearing dark blue jeans that hug his thighs and boots that look as worn-in as they look clean. 

His hair is damp, combed back and away from his face, making the bruise on his face even more noticeable. 

One side of Conner’s face still looks like he got hit with a metal tank. The swelling has gone down considerably, and it's nowhere near as red as it had been. At this point, it’s more brown and purple than red and yellow. The underside of his eye still looks either like someone got a good punch in or like he needs two full days of sleep. 

The other side of his face is a stark and handsome contrast with his strong jaw, high cheekbones, his straight nose, and those eyes… bright and beautiful as the ocean on a calm day, left untouched by the facial fracture. 

“Dick?” Conner asks when the silence stretches out too long. He frowns, confused, and leans his upper body forward, like he’s going to look out into the hall. “Is everything—”

Dick moves before he thinks. Thankful to his past self for being smart, he wraps his free arm around Conner’s neck and pulls him close. Conner lets out a soft sound of surprise, and Dick tilts his head back slightly, giving both of them a second to breathe before he presses their lips together. 

Conner stiffens, his hands twitching as he clearly has no idea what to do or where to put them. He doesn’t pull or push him away, and Dick takes that as a sign to press in even closer. 

There’s another moment of hesitation -of shyness, Dick would say- and then Conner places one hand on his waist, the other on the small of his back. Conner kisses him back like he’d done at the hospital: experimental, careful, but just as willing, and just as curious. 

Their lips part. Their breaths mingle. Dick shivers, and Conner’s hands tighten, offering support even if he doesn’t need it. 

Dick breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to get some air into his lungs. His hand settles on the back of Conner’s neck, and he takes a moment to notice the flush on Conner’s face before he leans in for a second k—

“Wait,” Conner says. 

The hand on his waist tightens even more, and he uses that hand to effectively stop Dick in his tracks. There’s so much strength in the action and gesture alone that Dick feels another shiver down his spine. 

“Yeah?” Dick manages to whisper. 

Conner rubs the small of his back in small, gentle circles. He looks up at the roof, then at Dick, and finally tilts his head towards the inside of the apartment. 

“We have company,” he says, looking and sounding sheepish. 

Dick’s mind immediately goes to Krypto. He blinks, then smiles. He gets ready to comment on how cute Conner is for worrying about the fact that Krypto saw them kissing…

But then he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. When he glances inside, he catches three pairs of eyes staring at them from Conner’s living room. 

“Oh,” Dick says, and when his brain finishes processing the scene, he follows it up with a heartfelt, “ Shit. ”

Bart bursts out laughing. Cassie tries and fails to hide her own laughter, and even Tim lets out an embarrassing amount of half-snorts while Krypto jumps off the couch and trots to where Conner is. 

Dick opens his mouth to make a smart comment to make the moment less embarrassing. When nothing comes to mind, all he can manage to get out is a hoarse, “...Hi.” 

“I’m very sorry,” Conner says at his side, and he does sound terribly apologetic. He drops his hand from the small of Dick’s back, but uses the one on his waist to pull him into the foyer and close the door. “I’ve been trying to kick them out for the past half an hour, but they wouldn’t budge.”

“There was no way we were going to miss that!” Cassie exclaims, motioning between them. She elbows Bart with her other arm. “Right? Right?”

“No way,” Bart says, shaking his head and still laughing. 

Dick doesn’t know if he should join in on the laughter or if he’d rather get swallowed by the ground. “Can we start over? How about I go back out, throw myself off a window and come back in a million years?” he asks. He thinks it’s a wonderful idea. 

“Absolutely not,” Conner mutters at his side, just as Tim yells,  “Oh, no, don’t you dare!” 

Tim springs to his feet from a very soft-looking beanbag and smiles. It’s a very big and dangerous smile.  “You can’t leave, Dick. CK already got the nice beef and the nice—”

“Tim,” Conner interrupts. 

“—Russet potatoes. He also cut some thyme and oregano from the balcony—”

“ Tim .” 

“—garden, and he even got some wine—”

“Oh yes, I saw the wine!” Bart cuts in cheerfully. He smiles at Dick. “CK said he asked—”

“That’s it. Out. All of you. Now,” Conner says, and stalks towards the living room like he’s going to kill all of them. 

Cassie squeals in delight as she and Bart get up from the big sofa. They join Tim, who’s now standing behind a small coffee table. The three of them are soon joined by Krypto, and they all turn to Conner with varying degrees of amusement and defiance on their faces. Even Krypto joins in on the rebellion with a couple of excited barks. 

Conner comes to a halt when he’s standing in front of the coffee table, the piece of furniture the only thing between him and his friends. He stares at them in disbelief, seems ready to charge forward… but in the end, he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“What will it take for you three to walk out the door, voluntarily , and in the next thirty seconds?” he asks. 

Cassie, Bart and Tim exchange glances. After a silent and maybe telepathic meeting, Tim crosses his arms. 

“What are you willing to offer?” he asks. 

“Can it be food?” Bart pipes up. 

“How about station chores?” Cassie says. 

Conner lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s keep it simple. Food. One dish each, if you guys want to be difficult.” 

“Oh, we’re always difficult,” Tim says. 

“Indeed,” Conner agrees, like he already regrets what he said. He sighs again. “Do we have a deal? One dish each and you leave? Immediately.” The last part isn’t a question. 

The three of them exchange glances again. They end up huddling in a circle and whispering to each other for a few seconds. Then, Bart nods and faces Conner again. 

“Will this include side dishes?” he asks. 

Conner breathes in through his nose. “No, but I’ll buy all the ingredients for whatever you each decide you want to eat.”

“Deal!” the three of them yell at the same time, and walk towards the door like the well-behaved adults they hadn’t been until a second ago. 

Amused, endeared and somewhat intimidated, Dick clings to the bread and treats he brought as they join him by the foyer. 

“It was good to see you!” Bart says. He even reaches out to grab Dick’s free hand and shakes it as he goes by. “I hope you like dinner tonight. Can you let me know if you do? It sounds so yummy, so if you liked it, maybe I can ask CK to make it again as the dish I—” 

“Or you can ask for something else, because tonight’s menu is for Dick only,” Cassie says, wrapping an arm around Bart’s neck and pulling him towards the door. She waves at Dick over Bart’s head. “Good to see you again, Dick. Have fun tonight! And you look freaking amazing, by the way!” 

That does get a laugh out of him. “Thank you,” he says, and then, “I’ll let you know, Bart.”

“Thank you !” Bart cries, opening the door and letting Cassie drag him outside. 

Tim hangs back, as Dick had expected. He looks at Conner one last time, gives him a smile that is way too angelic… and then he aims the smile at Dick. 

“I guess we’ll be seeing you around a lot more, huh?” he asks. 

Dick looks at Conner out of the corner of his eye. He nods. “That’s my plan, yes.”

The smile dims, and Tim regards him in contemplative silence for a moment. Then, he sighs, almost as if he’s relieved. 

“Good,” he says. He pats Dick on the shoulder, and the angelic smile returns. “I meant it about the herbs from the garden. He’s got this little—”

“Out!” Conner grumbles. He takes one step forward, and Tim bolts for the door, laughing like a maniac as he goes. 

“Jesus,” Conner mutters. He walks past Dick, closes the door. He turns to face him, an apology written all over his face. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Dick.” 

Dick chuckles. “Don’t be. That was fun. They’re very fun.” 

“Too fun, sometimes,” Conner says, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. He scratches the back of his head, unsure of what to do or say next. 

Dick, for his part, does know what he wants to do. He places the bread and everything else on the closest surface he can find: a little cabinet right there in the foyer. Krypto wanders close to sniff and nose at the items. Dick promises he’ll give him a proper greeting as soon as he can, but right now…

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks. 

Conner looks up in surprise. “If you— I mean—” he starts, and closes his eyes. He swallows hard, opens his eyes, and tries again. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

Dick laughs. He steps closer to him, wraps both arms around Conner’s neck this time… and he waits. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, and I want to do so much more than kissing,” he admits, but still doesn’t lean in, because there’s something important he needs to know first. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks. 

The question seems to catch Conner quite off guard. He stiffens. He frowns. He opens his mouth to reply right away, but then, because it’s Conner, he takes a moment to think about the question to give a real and honest answer. 

Dick waits, torn between hope and a tinge of fear. It would break his heart and a part of his sanity if Conner’s answer ended up being ‘no’. It wouldn’t make sense given everything that has happened, but a part of him also needs to hear the answer, no matter what it is.

“Yes,” Conner says, almost as if he’d read Dick’s mind. There’s that split second of hesitance  -of shyness- on Conner’s part, as he lifts his hands. 

“You can touch me,” Dick says. “However you want to. However it feels right to you. I want you to do it. I want you to kiss me, and I want you to touch me.”

He meets Conner’s eyes, plays with the short dark hairs at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I want to do this, Conner. I really, really want to do this, but I also want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, or if I go too far.” He puts a little extra emphasis on the last bit, because that is also an important point. He doesn’t think he can go cold turkey again, but if Conner is uncomfortable with the liberties he’s taking, or if he finds him stifling, Dick will try to cut back. He will try to—

“I am fine. This is fine, Dick,” Conner murmurs. He wraps his own arms around Dick’s waist. He flexes his fingers in another show of hesitance, then slowly but surely pulls Dick towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” Conner goes on. He kisses Dick, not his lips but his cheek. It’s light, it’s innocent, and Dick shivers anyway. 

“Sorry about what?” Dick asks, trying very hard to focus. 

“I’m sorry for being wei—”

“Careful, Kent.”

 “What word can I use?”

“Not that one, that’s for sure.” 

Conner lets out a short, soft laugh. “Difficult, then,” he says, and kisses Dick’s other cheek. “I’m sorry for being difficult, Dick. I’m not… used to this anymore. It all feels very new, again, and… it might take me a little while to become accustomed to having someone I can be so… free with. But it doesn’t bother me. You don’t bother me.” Conner kisses his lips this time. “I like you. I… I like doing this… with you,” he murmurs.

Dick lets out a soft groan. “I’m so glad to hear that, because now I really want to kiss you again,” he says, and does just that. 

That kiss only comes to an end when Krypto lets out a whine and nuzzles at their legs. 

Dick looks down, the scent of Conner’s clean clothes and a faint whiff of his aftershave still tingling his nose. He comes face-to-face with Krypto’s big and sad eyes. 

“Oh no, I don’t like that look,” he says, which prompts Conner to look down at him too. 

Once Krypto realizes he has both of their attention, he whines again and paws at Conner’s leg like he’s swatting off a bug. 

Conner hums. “What up, bud?” 

Krypto paws at his leg again, then turns to the items Dick had placed on top of the little cabinet. He nuzzles the pile and looks up at them again. 

“Do you have some meat in there?” Conner asks. 

“Oh. Yeah. I got some bread for us and some lamb treats for him.”

“Ah, well, that explains it. Now that he’s smelled them, he’s not going to move until you give him a couple.”

“How many can he have right now?” 

“He already ate, but I’m sure he’ll gobble up three or even four, depending on how pampered he’s feeling.” 

Dick chuckles. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He drops his arms from around Conner’s neck and turns. Conner lets him do it, arms still around him. Once Dick is facing away from him, he slides his hands to Dick’s hips,  grips them, and just like that, holds him in place a second time.

Conner brings Dick against his chest. There’s still a trace of hesitance, but when Dick feels Conner’s wide, solid and warm chest pressed against his back, his face -and every part of his body, really- goes up in flames. 

“Is this okay?” Conner murmurs in his ear. His breath tickles Dick’s neck. His fingers knead his waist in slow, gentle movements. 

Dick doesn’t answer right away. His heart is suddenly in the back of his throat. His body tingles, burns, aches … and he needs a minute to catch his breath and remember where his mouth is. 

“Y-Yeah,” he manages, and can’t hide the tremble in his voice. It’s more than okay. It’s exactly what he wants, maybe even what he needs. 

“Okay.” Conner inhales, then lets out a hum that reverberates inside his chest, and Dick feels it down to his soul. 

“You do look amazing, by the way,” Conner says. His voice is soft, gentle, and oh so genuine. “You look gorgeous, and you smell so good, too.” He nuzzles Dick’s neck, only for a couple of seconds. It’s nowhere near enough, and then his warmth disappears. Dick is left frozen in place as Conner walks further into the apartment. 

“Would you like me to pour you some wine?” Conner asks. He glances over his shoulder, and somehow, he doesn’t look nearly as flustered as Dick feels. 

“Wine?” Dick echoes. It’s both a question for Conner and something he says to ground himself. 

“Yes.” 

“But you don’t drink.” He knows he’s stating the obvious, and he knows both Tim and Bart mentioned something about wine, but his brain is still focusing on not combusting. 

Conner ducks his head. “Well, no, but you had some wine when I came to your house, and technically this dinner goes better with wine than soda or… you know, iced tea, so it made sense to get some for you.” He holds up a hand and waves it from one side to the other. “I’m not saying you have to drink it, of course. If you’d rather have something else, I have—”

“No, no,” Dick interrupts. Conner had gotten him some wine; of course he’s going to drink it. “I’d love a glass. Thank you.” 

Conner nods, and Dick decides to turn his attention to Krypto before he gets any more riled up and smoke ends up coming out of his ears. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks Krypto. He falls to his knees next to the dog, who lets out a very happy sound and walks into his arms the moment he opens them. 

“I guess not, but I’m sorry I ignored you. I think you could tell I’ve been distracted,” he explains, hugging Krypto against his chest. The dog wags his tails and lets Dick hold him. Once Krypto thinks Dick has had his fill, he wiggles away, growls at the treats, and gives him a very pointed look. 

“Oh, my goodness. Yes, of course. Do excuse my tardiness, sir,” Dick laughs, and reaches for the bag. He opens it and pulls out one of the dark brown sticks. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Dick coos. He feeds Krypto the treat without waiting for any sort of answer because Krypto is clearly the bestest boy he’s ever met, with his dad being a close second. 

Krypto takes a second stick, then a third. However, when Dick holds out a fourth one, Krypto gives a soft growl before he turns around and wanders away, tail wagging from side to side. 

Happy to have been of service, Dick gets to his feet and takes his first proper look at Conner’s home. 

The apartment is long and quite narrow. The kitchen is right next to the entrance, with the big appliances like the stove and fridge on one side. A kitchen island sits in the middle -Dick guesses it also doubles as a breakfast bar- with more appliances lining the opposite wall.

It’s all one big and open space, so Dick sees the living room past the kitchen, right by a pair of white balcony doors. There’s one big couch where Cassie and Bart were sitting, the coffee table, a TV set on top of some low shelves. There’s a doggy bed right by the doors, Tim’s bean bag, a small workspace next to the TV and not much else. 

Dick walks further inside, stepping right into the kitchen. Conner is pulling a glass out of a cupboard, a chilled bottle of wine already sitting on top of the kitchen island. 

Dick takes another minute to see the rest of the space. There’s a small room right behind the foyer and before the kitchen. With the door half-open, Dick catches a glimpse of a washing machine. Between the kitchen and the living room, there’s a pair of low, arched doors made of frosted glass thick enough to blur everything behind them. 

The place is done in beige, brown and muted greens. It’s small, especially since Dick is now used to having a whole-ass house to himself. Still, the place feels cozy, comfy, peaceful and warm… just like Conner himself. 

Pulled by an invisible force, Dick starts making his way through the apartment. 

He sees an electric kettle, several jars filled with tea leaves, a blender, and other kitchen tools neatly arranged on open shelves. There are several books on the shelves above the workspace, and Dick is about to stop and pull down some of the titles, but then he sees the picture frames under the TV, and he orbits towards them, still being pulled by the invisible hand.

He kneels in front of the TV set to get a better look. Krypto trots up to him. At first, Dick thinks it’s because he’s now close to the doggy bed. However, he soon sees the many chew toys on the shelf underneath the pictures, and it all makes sense. 

“I won’t touch anything,” he promises. 

Krypto ignores him, pulls out a monkey plush and drops it at Dick’s feet. 

“Oh.” Dick laughs. “This is a very pretty toy, Krypto. It looks quite chewy.” 

Krypto barks in agreement, pulls out a tug rope and drops it on top of the monkey. 

“Ah, this one looks even better for chewing,” Dick says, and Krypto pulls out two more toys before he gets bored, grips the monkey between his teeth, and wanders over to his bed with it. 

Endeared, Dick puts the toys back in their place before he takes a proper look at the pictures. 

Family , is the word that comes to mind as Dick picks up one after the other, taking several seconds to appreciate each frame. 

There are a few of his parents: one when they were younger, while they both have grey and white hair in another. There is one of his parents with a boy who looks way too cheerful to be Conner, so it must be his brother. 

Next, Dick sees his parents, a teenage Clark who still looks even more cheerful than before. Clark is holding a toddler Conner, who’s frowning at the camera. 

There are more pictures of the two brothers. With the more recent ones, Dick can’t help but notice that Conner and his brother are so similar they could be mistaken for twins at a first glance. The similarities are all physical though, as Clark is always beaming and looking like he’s having the time of his life, while Conner looks like he’s ready to bolt the moment as soon as the picture is taken. 

He sees an image of Clark and a woman with black hair and stunning violet eyes. There’s also a picture of the two of them and a baby boy, and a few others of the couple as the kid grows older. The boy has the same bright smile as Clark, and Dick makes a mental note to ask Conner later what the name of his nephew is. 

Dick sees a picture of Tim and Krypto when he was a puppy. He sees Cassie with a buzzcut, grinning and hugging an even younger Bart. There’s a frame of Tim and Conner at their pinning ceremony and one of Conner in uniform with his family. He also sees plenty of pictures of Krypto by himself at several stages of life, as well as of another huge and white dog that looks more like a creature of the wild than a pet. 

“That’s Wolf,” Conner’s voice comes. 

Dick looks up, still holding one of the pictures of the big dog. Conner is standing close to the couch with Dick’s glass of wine in his hand. He’s put on a simple black apron.

“Wolf?” Dick asks, putting the picture down and getting to his feet. 

“I have never been very creative,” Conner says with a shrug. “I found him in the fields when he was already like two years old. Never knew where he came from or how he ended up there. My parents were worried he was an actual wolf when I first brought him home, but turns out he just had good genes.” 

“I don’t blame them. He looks kind of scary, and really big.”

“He was, at least when you first met him. It took him a while to warm up to people, but after he got to know you, he was just a big and fluffy pup,” Conner says, holding out the glass of wine.

Dick smiles and takes it. “Sounds like someone I know.” 

Conner frowns at him, but it’s a soft, half-hearted gesture. He heads back to the kitchen, and Dick follows, taking a first sip. It’s white wine today: fresh, fruity, with a very faint hint of citrus. 

“This tastes nice,” he says, and takes a few more sips. 

“I know red goes better with steak, but you said you preferred white the other day,” Conner says, most of his attention on what’s now on top of the kitchen island. In the time Dick had been staring at the pictures, Conner had spread out vegetables, bowls, knives and cutting boards onto the smooth and shiny surface. 

Dick perches himself onto the closest chair and takes another sip of wine as Conner rolls his sleeves up even more and reaches for a knife. 

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Dick muses. He remembers he had made the comment as a joke when Conner had come over to his house. 

“You did.” 

Dick hums. His gaze lingers on Conner’s hands as they peel, slice and dice vegetables with easy and practiced movements. 

“You have a lovely home,” he mumbles. 

“Thank you.”

“Everything is all tidied up and in order, and it’s so clean. Almost too clean, I’d say.” 

Conner gives a faint smile. “Well, that’d be because I made sure to clean up properly before you arrived today, and before the Three Musketeers invaded my living room.” 

Dick perks up in his chair. “Properly, you say? Even when you probably shouldn’t be doing any type of strenuous cleaning? Or any strenuous stuff at all?”

“I stayed away from the vacuum cleaner, and I took plenty of breaks in between, if you must know.”

Dick brushes imaginary hair out of his face. He can’t pass up this opportunity. “And yet this place looks spotless. You care that much about making a good impression?” 

Conner doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t get flustered either. Instead, his smile widens, and he meets his eyes. 

“On you? I very much do, Dickie,” is all he says, and Dick loses his ability to speak for the next few seconds. 

Even more amused by that reaction, Conner chuckles. 

It’s a short, deep sound that tightens something low in Dick’s stomach. His fingers mirror the feeling by tightening around his glass of wine. After a false start, he says, “You… you are unreal.” 

Because he is.  A breath of fresh air. A gentle hug. An open book, not because he’s easy to read, but because he makes sure there’s very little to guess or assume. Conner is all of that, and Dick wants him so bad . 

Conner raises an eyebrow, most of his attention still on the ingredients. “Should I be flattered or offended?”

“Flattered.”

“In that case, thank you.” Conner turns around to check the oven’s temperature and grab a pan. 

“It was nice to have things to do and to look forward to today,” he says, placing the pan next to a cutting board. He goes back to cutting potatoes in perfectly even and thin slices. “I’ve been feeling very useless and bored the last few days. I haven’t even been able to go with Krypto on walks, so like I said, I’m glad I’m getting to do more today.”

The words bring Dick down from the high he’s been in. They’re a stronger reminder of what happened to Conner not even two weeks ago. Conner had gotten hurt. He’d been in the hospital. No matter how much Dick is loving the evening already or making light of the situation, this wouldn’t be happening if Conner hadn’t ended up with a broken cheekbone and a concussion. 

Dick’s shoulders sag. Now that he thinks about it for more than a second, the bruise on Conner’s face and the white bandages under the shirt stand out more. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, stomach sinking. 

Conner keeps slicing. “What about?”

“I came here and pounced on you the moment I saw you without asking anything about how you’re doing, or what’s happening with your job, or how long they’re going to bench you, or, you know, without asking any important questions at all.”

“I’d say we both got a little distracted when you arrived, and it’s not like dinner will be ready in the next five minutes, so…” Conner pauses his movements again and looks up. “Do you want to know?”

“ Yes ,” Dick says, voice vehement. “Yes. Of course I want to know. I’ve been so worried and… and I’m sorry that I haven’t asked already.” He stands up. “As a matter of fact, I want to help, too.”

Conner raises both eyebrows in surprise this time. “You do?”

“Well, you’re a convalescent man. I’m not going to sit there the whole night and sip wine and ogle you while you cook. ” 

“I… think you looked very pretty doing just that, actually.”

If he’d been walking, Dick would have stumbled. As it is, he grips the edge of the island with one hand and grits his teeth to stop himself from sitting back down. “That is so not fair, Conner Kent. That was a very low blow.” 

Conner opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I’m sorry, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do, you big menace, that’s the problem.” Dick lets go of the kitchen island and joins him on the other side. 

“Let me help, and let me play twenty-questions,” he says. He wraps a finger around the neck strap of Conner’s apron and gives a gentle tug. That earns him an immediate blush from Conner, and Dick makes a mental note. Conner might knock him out with words, but maybe Dick can get him back with little touches like these. 

“I’ll answer any and every question you have,” Conner meets Dick’s eyes again. “And I’ll let you help, but only if you promise to do everything as I tell you to, when I tell you to.”

“Your kitchen, your rules?”

“Yes.”

Dick gets the feeling that not a lot of people are allowed in Conner’s kitchen, and it’s probably the same reason why Dick hadn’t interfered much when Conner had cooked the chili at his house. 

“Aye, chef,” Dick agrees, and steals one last kiss before he pulls back and salutes his new head chef. 

Conner is suspended from work for at least another full week. His captain had even come to visit him the day he got discharged to deliver the news in person. Rest had been completely mandatory and he hadn’t even been allowed to wander his own apartment at first. However, now that the second week is starting to roll around, Conner thinks he’ll at least be able to leave the apartment and take short walks, preferably at night, and only if the Three Musketeers don’t bar his door from the outside. 

“I haven’t been able to leave my apartment at all,” Conner complains. His friends had brought his bike home from the station. They’ve tried cooking a few meals for him and ordered takeout so he wouldn’t go into the kitchen. They’ve taken away his boxing tape and won’t give it back anytime soon. Both Tim and the doctor have said that when he starts exercising again, it’s not like boxing will be a viable first option anyway. 

“I don't blame them for mothering you,” Dick says. Chances are he would have acted the same and done the same things if he’d been Conner’s personal, self-assigned and unofficial nurse. “You really weren’t supposed to do anything but exist and not feel worse these past few days, or in the next couple of weeks.”

“A part of me understands that,” Conner says, slicing the last potatoes. He looks as dejected as Dick has ever seen him, which considering their talks at the hospital, really says something. 

“A part of me does,” Conner continues. “But it’s so annoying being stuck here, and knowing that even when I go back to the station they’ll put me on light duty. It’ll probably be a month and a half before I’m allowed to get back in the ambulance. It’ll be even longer until Tim decides to stop fussing.” 

The words are full of sadness and disappointment. They’re a touch bitter too, and Dick has to dig his heels in to stop himself from ambling closer and reassuring Conner with a hug, or a kiss, or both. 

He thinks about offering his sympathies or reassuring Conner that everything will be all right. He thinks about saying something full of wishful hope and good intentions. In the end, he decides Conner might appreciate a different approach altogether. 

“That does suck quite a lot,” he says instead, and Conner looks up, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry that this all happened when you were just trying to do your job,” Dick begins. “I’m sorry that you ended up with a crazy patient and that you got hurt. I’m sorry you won’t be able to go back to your life in the next couple of weeks. Just thinking about it sucks, so I can’t imagine how much more it sucks having to live with reality. It sucks, Conner, and I… I hope it gets easier to deal with as the days go by.” 

Conner stares at him in silence for so long that Dick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Uhm,” he mumbles. As he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should say the usual comforting and empty words people tend to give most of the time…

“Thank you,” Conner says, and he means it, because he smiles so big that his eyes crinkle. It’s one of the most beautiful smiles Dick has ever seen… until Conner winces and reaches up to touch his face, almost by reflex. 

“Oh no.” Dick takes one step towards him, but Conner shakes his head, drops his hand. 

“No, that was my bad. I’m fine,” he says, and he smiles at Dick again, smaller this time, though no less grateful. “Thank you for saying it. It does suck. Nothing will change what has happened. Thank you for understanding that.” 

Dick’s heart does a little something inside his chest, most of his attention still on the big, almost boyish smile. “I’ve got you, handsome,” he says, voice light and airy. When nothing else comes to mind, he clears his throat.  “So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Potatoes go in the oven now. Can you get me the thyme and oregano?”

“Yes, chef.” 

Tomatoes are next, and as Conner starts working on them, Dick asks about the guy who’d started the mess in the first place. 

“A construction worker,” Conner informs him, voice grim. 

And of all the things Dick had expected… a construction worker isn’t very low on the list. 

“So what happened?” Dick asks, because apart from the information Roy and Conner had shared at the hospital, he doesn’t know much else. 

 “It’s… somewhat of a long story. A bit embarrassing, too. For me, not for the construction worker. From what I heard, he was… not in a good place, and hadn’t been for a while.” Conner purses his lips. “Can you please pass me the orange knife?”

Dick raises both eyebrows and hands over the knife. “I’ve got time,” he says, and then shrugs. “I had a meltdown last week over a guy I liked, I don’t know if you heard… but I’m pretty sure what happened to you is nowhere near as embarrassing as that, if at all.”

Conner lets out a sound between a huff and a snort. 

“Ha, ha,” he mutters, but he tells Dick about the guy, and about what had happened in the ambulance. 

The man’s name was Waylon. He was divorced, in his mid-forties and a construction worker since his early twenties. He’d had an accident almost eight years earlier: he’d fallen off the third-floor scaffolding of a building and had been in the hospital for almost a full year. He’d had broken ribs, broken limbs and spinal fractures that had left him with chronic pain that never went away. At one point, the doctors stopped prescribing him meds for it. 

A fellow coworker, also recovering from a serious injury, had introduced him to “street vendors”, and it had all gone downhill from there. He started purchasing opioids every week, then almost day. He hadn’t gone back to construction after the accident, and couldn’t find a similar job either. He lost his wife, got cut off from his children, and ended up working as a bouncer in several clubs to earn money for more pills. 

He’d beaten his wife before the divorce when she’d tried to stop him. He had tried to attack his eldest son, too. He’d become very unstable and volatile, and had been fired from two clubs already by the time Conner and Tim had the misfortune of meeting him. 

Blood tests had revealed that Waylon had, in fact, overdosed the day of the incident. The club where he worked had been close to the Walmart, and he’d been getting high with a couple of bartenders after closing time. He’d wandered into the store’s parking lot muttering something about needing another dose before he had to work the next night, but the bystanders had put him on edge. He panicked, reacted, and then he passed out. 

Waking up in the ambulance hadn’t helped. Given that he already had two arrest warrants for domestic abuse and for purchasing illegal substances, the only thing Waylon had been worried about had been… not getting another one. He’d managed to get out of the ambulance, but since a police car had been following Tim and Conner in the first place, he didn’t get very far. 

“Cassie says that he got charged with disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, assaulting emergency personnel and a bunch of other things. Bart says he’s not avoiding jail this time.” Conner says. He checks the tomatoes on the stove, then grabs a bowl already full of grilled corn. “Can you please get the avocados and peppers from the fridge? Two and one, please.” 

“Yes, chef,” Dick says, and opens the fridge. He takes out the requested items. “I’m glad to hear that, though. I’m sorry for what happened to him and it’s a sad ending to a sad story, but I don’t blame you for pressing charges.”

“I didn’t press charges,” Conner says, checking on the tomatoes again and sneaking a glance at the potatoes. 

Dick pauses with the fridge door open. “What?”

“There was no need. He was getting charged whether I filed anything or not, and I didn’t have the energy to go down to the station and do it anyway. Besides…” Conner sighs, frustrated. “I still don’t remember what happened after he kicked me in the chest, and I know I never will. I remember the struggle. I remember he panicked. I know I didn’t want to hurt him because… well, hurting people is not my job, and it should never be.  I know I hoped I could subdue him without hurting him, but that’s as far as my memories get.” 

Conner shakes his head.  “He gave a statement. He did hit me with the oxygen tank, I followed him out of the ambulance, but I was still conscious.” He meets Dick’s gaze again, jaw set. “He didn’t give me a concussion. I gave it to myself when I fell out of the damn thing. Tim saw me. I passed out before I fell and that’s how I hit my head… You have to admit that it is at least a little embarrassing.” 

Dick refuses to hold back any longer. 

He sets the avocados and pepper on top of the kitchen island. He turns towards Conner, who seems to know what he’s about to do because he puts down the corn and the corn cutter he had in his hands. 

“I will honestly tell you nothing is embarrassing about that, because you did what you had to do, and not what you could have done,” Dick says, placing his hands on Conner’s chest. He shivers when Conner’s hands move to his waist like they belong there, and he kisses him once, twice, thrice… and struggles to leave it at that. 

“Maybe you’re being too nice to me,” Conner points out. 

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, baby,” Dick replies, and this time, the endearment rolls off his tongue easily and earns him a small chuckle in return. 

“You fascinate me,” Conner says, and pecks his lips before pulling away to check on the food again, giving Dick time and space to recover from that simple but killing compliment. 

Conner finishes filling a bowl with kernels of corn and makes quick work of the other ingredients, then declares the tomatoes are done. Dick is tasked with cutting and adding the avocado and seasoning the corn salad while Conner checks on the potatoes again. 

“We’re pretty much done,” Conner tells him, because now he only has to grill the steak, and that will only take a few minutes. 

“I’ll set the table,” Dick offers, squeezing the last bit of lime into the salad. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll eat on the balcony. It’s prettier out there,” Conner replies, throwing the first piece of meat onto a sizzling pan. 

“I’ll… bring out the drinks, then?”

“Yes, please. Get comfortable out there. How do you eat your steak?”

“Uh. I like mine done medium.”

“Great. I’ll bring the food out once everything is ready.”

Dick sighs. “You will ruin me, chef,” he says. He tops his half-full glass with wine and grabs Conner an iced tea from the fridge before he heads towards the balcony. 

Krypto gets up once Dick wanders close to his doggy bed. He starts wagging his tail and is the first one through the sliding door when Dick opens it. Once outside, Krypto gives a couple of excited barks, almost like he’s showing Dick what’s there.

Once Dick sees the outside, he remembers Tim’s unfinished comment about the balcony. 

“Of course he has a garden,” Dick murmurs, taking in the space. 

Like the rest of the apartment, the balcony is narrower than expected, but it’s as organized and cozy as the inside. 

One wall is covered in tiny bushes and hanging plants. Conner seems to have put in black iron shelves, and all of them are filled with brown pots. Some of the plants are already vibrant shades of green with lots of leaves. Others are small and seem to be starting to bloom. There are another couple of longer, shorter pots aligned against the balcony’s railing, some with a lot of leaves, others emptier than the pots on the shelves. There are no pretty or colorful flowers, only greenery for plants that Dick guesses are edible. Tim had said something about Conner cutting herbs from the garden, after all. 

Dick looks to the other side. There’s a small L-shaped sofa with a wooden base and thick cushions, an even smaller coffee table and another doggy bed for Krypto. At first, Dick thinks the balcony space seems to go beyond the sofa, but when he walks closer to it, he sees there’s more railing dividing it from a second balcony space. It’s too close to belong to another apartment. He wonders if, instea,d that space can only be accessed from the room behind the frosted glass doors inside. 

“It’s not very noisy, is it?” Conner asks, stepping onto the balcony with two plates of food. 

Dick glances around. Conner’s apartment is certainly not very high up, and there are plenty of other buildings and houses surrounding them, but the sounds of traffic and people in general aren’t very loud. If anything, it’s a buzzing murmur easy to ignore and doesn’t take away from how peaceful their current space is. 

“It’s perfect,” Dick says, and he isn’t talking only about the balcony. 

“It’s Krypto’s favorite spot,” Conner muses, putting the plates of food on the table. Krypto has already curled into his doggy bed, looking very content and relaxed. 

“I don’t blame him, this is already becoming my favorite spot, too,” Dick says, just as Conner ducks back into the apartment with a very non-committal hum. Then again, it’s pretty obvious that Conner’s favorite part of his apartment is not the balcony. 

Dick sits down on one side of the small sofa, sinking right in when the cushions prove to be softer and thicker than they looked. 

“Oof,” he mutters, scrambling to sit up straight. He gets one hand on the table and pulls himself upright, which ends with him having a perfect close-up of the food Conner had prepared today. 

Dick realizes he had never asked what they were eating today, and Conner had never told him. Maybe he was supposed to figure out while they cooked and he knew which components were involved, but he hadn’t really paid attention… until now. 

Conner has arranged colorful and hearty plates. Small portions and bland meals are probably not an option for him, which just goes to show: you can take a man out of the Midwest but you can’t take the Midwest out of the man. 

Dick sees a couple of rows of golden and crunchy potatoes on one side, a row of grilled tomatoes and corn salad in the middle, and then another couple of rows of sliced beef. The meat has drizzles of a green sauce on top, and to top it all off, everything on the plate is garnished with chopped parsley. 

The presentation is beautiful. It smells delicious. The fact that Conner made this for him… it tightens his chest even more than any other meal Dick has received. This one is different. Just as good, without a doubt, but… meaningful, in a way the others hadn’t been. 

Mouth watering, Dick pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the untouched plates. He pockets his phone just as Conner steps back outside with a plate of toasted and buttered bread. 

Dick’s chest tightens. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

“I try not to,” Conner replies with a shrug. It’s not a cheeky or flirty gesture, just him trying his best. 

Dick pats the space next to him. Conner leaves the plate of bread on the little table before he sits on the offered space, wrinkling his nose when he also sinks in further than planned.

Dick waits until Conner has gotten himself into a decent sitting position before he says, “Didn’t take you for the marshmallow cushions kind of guy.”

“I’m not. My brother sent it as a housewarming gift when I moved to Opal. He got the measurements from my friends.” Conner nods to Krypto’s bed and grabs his plate. “That bed was also a gift from my family. The kettle in the kitchen, too. My old one broke when I moved here.”

As an only child who grew up with an old, not very nice grandfather, Dick finds this mystifying. 

“It must be nice,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his wine. He’s barely touched it, not because he dislikes it, more so because he’s been drunk on other things tonight. 

“The new kettle?” Conner asks, confused. 

“No.” Dick grabs his own plate, appreciates the food for a couple more seconds, then pauses. He knows Conner won't be satisfied with that simple answer, but he also knows that if he gives a full and honest reply, more questions will follow. They're going to be tough questions, and his answers are not going to be very pretty. Dick doesn't talk much about his family, mostly because there's never really been one to speak of. He used to have close friends who became family at one point, like Barbara.  Now he has Wally, and the Harpers, but people like the Kents or the ‘Three Musketeers’... their concept is very unfamiliar to him. It's ironic, given how many people he hung out with during university and in Gotham, but—

“Then what?” Conner asks, sounding no less confused. 

Dick takes a deep breath. As a rule, he wouldn't choose to speak about this, and he’d do or say almost anything to change the subject. He started this, though, and tonight, he feels comfortable enough to finish it.  

It’s Conner he’s talking to, after all. 

“Having people who care… it must be nice,” he says. He digs into his food right away and lets the words hang in the air like the admission they are. 

Conner goes still at his side, and he drops his fork. He doesn't say anything right away. Dick figured it would happen, so he stays busy by trying a couple of different bites of everything on his plate. 

The food is delightful, and yet the word falls short. Dick thinks maybe he should get used to the fact that anything Conner makes is delicious. It's the cooking itself, of course; everything is well seasoned, the potatoes are crunchy enough, the salad fresh, the meat juicy and perfectly done…but it's so much more than that. 

It’s the food itself, and the time and care that went into it. A meal that was prepared at a simple request, yet made willingly. It’s something Conner cooked to make Dick happy, to keep him full, something that turned into an experience that feels as warm as Conner’s embraces have been. 

If he’d had more time to wallow in those thoughts, Dick might have shed a tear or two. Much to his relief, Conner clears his throat and speaks before Dick can get too sentimental. 

“So… your parents…?” he begins, and doesn’t seem to know what to say next. 

Dick doesn’t blame him. He’d mentioned during their impromptu picnic that he didn’t remember much about his parents, and he’d left it at that. It’s not like he wants to turn their evening into a pity party, and it’s not like he wants to offer up every detail, but tonight he can share some more. 

“I don’t remember much about them,” Dick says with a shrug. “They died when I was four, so not much to go on. I'm pretty sure they were very nice and good to me, because whenever I think about them… I only feel sad because I didn’t get to see them again, but…” He shakes his head. “I really can’t recall much beyond that.” 

“How did they— I mean—” Conner clears his throat. “What happened to them?”

It’s a good question, which has a very frustrating and confusing answer. His grandfather hadn’t known much about his estranged son other than the fact he’d married a Roma woman who worked with a traveling circus. They’d fallen in love or whatever, had a kid, and the three of them traveled with the circus for several years. His mother had been a trapeze artist. His father had become a hired hand for the circus, but his mom had gotten him in the air a couple of times.

“I used to have pictures of my mom and me. She got me on the static trapeze when I was a little over two years old, or that’s what I was told,” Dick says. “My dad wasn’t in the pictures as much, maybe because he was the one taking them.” 

The owner of the circus had the misfortune of meeting Tony Zucco when the circus was in Gotham. Zucco had tried to get Jack Haly to pay him a daily fee for being in his city. Haly had refused, and Zucco had sworn consequences. 

Why he chose to cut the ropes the first day John Grayson was finally brave enough to try catching his wife is… anyone’s guess, much to his chagrin. It might have also been a coincidence, and Dick doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. 

“I do remember when Haly came to our trailer,” Dick murmurs, and takes a sip of wine. Conner hasn’t touched his food since he started talking. He’d done the same thing at his house, and a part of Dick appreciates the consideration. 

“The man was pale. He looked scared, and that made me scared,” he goes on, and even this story feels distant at this point. It’s been over twenty years, and the memories had been fuzzy to begin with. “He picked me up and took me away from the circus. I think I was in the police station for a while, and then I was taken to my grandfather’s shitty apartment. That’s where I stayed until he died when I was eighteen.” In a way, Dick had been lucky the old man Cobb died months after he’d officially become an adult. It meant Dick didn’t have to go into the system or be relocated anywhere else.

“And he wasn’t… kind?” 

“Meh. We were strangers who never bothered to know much about each other.  I guess you could say we tolerated each other. He paid for school and food and showed up to meetings when he had to. He wasn’t mean to me, he was just… there , I guess, and it was better than not having anyone at all.” 

The old man Cobb had left money behind when he died. It hadn’t been left for him, but since neither of them had anyone else, Dick had been the obvious and only choice. He’d put the money to good use. He’d finished school. He’d gotten a job. He’d even managed to get a whole fucking house, and even though he knows those payments will be a thorn on his side for most of his life… he’s proud of himself for making it this far.

Conner’s quiet horror at Dick’s matter-of-fact tone is somewhat evident, and it’s easy to understand why. Conner has a solid and strong connection with his family even to the present day. The idea of never having had one must be unthinkable, and outrageous. 

“That is…” Conner begins, and then he closes his mouth. He can’t quite shake the dismay off his face, but he tries, and he also tries a second time to speak… but no word comes out. 

“It’s a terrible and sad story, which led to me having an even more terrible and even sadder childhood,” Dick supplies helpfully. He’s heard it all before. People have pitied him. People have tried to coddle him. Many have told him how sorry they are for his loss. A few have even told him that he’s lucky he at least had his grandfather, and that he should be thankful the old man Cobb gave him a roof over his head and an education. 

At this point, Dick doesn’t care much for his past. He doesn’t care about what people think about it either. He doesn’t like the reactions he gets when he shares these types of details about his life, which is why he tries to avoid talking about this subject as much as he can.

It’s a little late to be thinking about that now, though. Once again he’s spilled all of his emotional guts in front of a guy he really, really likes… and for once he doesn’t think he fucked everything up by sharing things that aren’t pretty, or nice, or perfect. 

Dick sips his wine. He takes a few bites of his food, then looks over at Conner. 

“You can tell me if I overshared. I might have,” he offers. While it doesn’t feel like the world is ending because he said too much, he understands that might have been a lot to take in. Above all, he trusts Conner to tell him if it was too much, and tonight, he trusts himself not to spiral too hard if that’s the case.

“Overshared?” Conner finally echoes. “No. You didn’t— I think you’re— that’s not—” Conner places his plate on the table with a clatter that is sharper than it needs to be. He turns towards Dick, takes the glass of wine out of his hand and envelops it with his own instead.

Dick’s pulse speeds up. Conner’s grip is as strong as it is warm, but when Conner gives him a small smile, all he can think of is: ‘Oh no. I broke you’ . 

The words are on the tip of his tongue just as Conner says, “I’m very glad to meet you, Dick.” 

Dick chokes on his own saliva. He jerks back by reflex, but Conner doesn’t let go. 

“What do you mean?” he squeaks. 

Conner winces. “Sorry. Maybe that wasn't the right way to… no, it is what I meant to say, but not… not like that.”

“Then how?”

Conner shuts his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He squeezes Dick’s hand and opens his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is… you ask me so many things. You want to know so much about me, but you seem to think I don’t want to know just as much about you.”

Dick sighs. “Well, there’s not a lot of fun or pretty things to share, Conner.”

“So?” Conner raises an eyebrow. “You’re not made of sunshine and rainbows, and neither am I.”

“That’s debatable,” Dick retorts right away. 

“Dick.”

“... Sorry.” 

Conner shakes his head. “Dick, nothing and no one is sunshine and rainbows all the time. It can’t be, and that’s okay. I’m not… scared, if that’s what you think. Neither of us is perfect. You know I’m anything but, and I’m glad… I’m glad that you’re letting me see that you’re not either.” Conner releases his hand and offers another smile. This one is smaller, a bit watery, even. “Wouldn’t it be tiring to pretend all the time, anyway?”

Dick flexes his fingers. He looks at Conner’s handsome face, at the brave smile, at the glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a gentle reminder that he’s probably not the only one out of his comfort zone, nor the only one who doesn’t know how all of this will or should work. 

“It’d be exhausting,” he admits, and smiles back.

They smile at each other like idiots for too long, yet not enough time. A particularly loud and long amount of honking sounds is what ends up breaking the moment. They break eye contact, and they both reach for their food without another word. The silence stretches on as they continue eating, but it’s a comfortable, calm silence, and Dick enjoys it as much as he enjoys every bite of food. 

Once their plates are clear, Dick stacks everything neatly on the small table before he draws his legs to his chest. He debates whether he should give in to a new intrusive thought, and decides… why not?

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t been on a proper date in a really long time either,” he says, and leans his head against Conner’s shoulder. 

“You haven’t?” Conner asks, surprised. He lifts his arm so Dick can huddle against his side more comfortably. It’s an unconscious, almost automatic gesture. 

“Nope.” Dick is careful not to let all his weight fall on Conner, because the last thing the bruises on his chest need is more pressure on top of them. “I’ve… hung out with people, but a date-date? It’s been a while.”

“Huh.”

“What’s that ‘huh’ for?”

“Nothing much, but if that’s the case… I hope tonight has been as nice a re-introduction into this dating thing for you as it has been for me.” Conner clears his throat. “Not that I think this is over already, but… uh, you know what I mean.”

Dick places a hand on Conner’s thigh and squeezes.  “I started having a wonderful evening the moment I kissed you in front of your friends, and come on. Delicious homemade food that you made for little ole me? Chilled wine? Krypto’s show-and-tell? Your beautiful garden and these nice views? It’s only gotten better from there.”

“Oh… well, that is good to hear,” Conner muses, and grabs Dick’s hand again. He rubs Dick’s fingers with his thumb, and then there’s a pause as he finally notices the small and special detail. 

“Your nails,” he says. 

Dick wiggles his fingers. “How do you like them? Someone gave me this beautiful color as a gift. I figured today was the perfect day to put it on and flaunt it.”

Conner snorts, soft and half-hearted. “It suits you.” 

“Thank you.”

“Do you like any color in particular? Or do you have any preferred brand?”

As someone who hadn’t considered wearing it out of his own free will until Conner had gotten him the gift bottle…

“Blues look better on me, but it might be nice to try some reds,” he says. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Conner promises. 

Dick thinks the conversation will die there and they’ll be enveloped by another blanket of comfortable and easy silence. Conner, however, clears his throat again. “What do you like to do for fun?” 

The question is so unexpected that it gets a laugh out of him. “Ice-breakers, big guy?”

Conner shifts. “No. I think it’s a bit too late for those. I’m curious, that’s all.”

“Curious, huh?”

“Yes. Maybe we can do one of those things for our next date.” 

“What if I want to do this very same thing next week?”

Conner huffs. “Well, then we can do this next week, too.” 

Dick pulls away to look at Conner, one eyebrow raised. “Just like that.” 

“Well, why not?”

“And I want to give the movie theater another try? And you let me buy you whatever I want, like we discussed?”

“Then we can make better memories at the movie theater, and we can choose a movie you’d actually enjoy this time.”

“And if I said I wanted to grab a drink with you and then go dancing? Like, club dancing and the whole early-twenties shebang?”

Conner looks pained by the very suggestion, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he shrugs.  “Most places have non-alcoholic drinks now, or sodas. You’d probably have to teach me how to dance, though, and I’d only ask that you please don’t leave me to wander a club on my own. Tim made me try that a couple of times. It sucked.” 

Dick places his elbow on Conner’s shoulder and leans in. “So you’re worried about me leaving you alone in a club, but not about the fact that I’d want to take you to a club so soon after you got a concussion?” he verifies, lifting his other hand to fiddle with the top button of Conner’s flannel. 

Conner looks down at what Dick is doing, then he looks up and shrugs one shoulder this time. “There’s that too, I suppose. But if you want to do that, I’m happy to join you once we’re sure my brain won’t bleed from being in a place with flashing lights and really loud music.” 

Dick laughs. He leans in for a light kiss, fingers still tugging at the button. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to spoil me this much from the first date? I might get a complex.”

“I’m not spoiling you. I want to know what makes you happy, and I’d like to do those things with you, even if it’s not what I’d choose to do on my own,” Conner replies. “That’s an important part of having a relationship with someone, isn’t it?”

Dick pulls him in by the shirt and brushes their noses together. 

“Did I already tell you that you’ll ruin me?” he murmurs against Conner’s lips. 

Conner sighs. “That’s very much what I’d like to avoid doing, Dick.”

Too late , Dick thinks, and closes the distance to get a much wanted and needed kiss. 

Dick decides it’s time to go home when Conner goes quieter than usual and starts rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand every other minute. 

“I’m all right,” Conner assures him. When Dick gives him a flat look, he gives a sheepish smile and amends, “My head hurts, and the lights out here aren’t helping.” 

Considering that it’s considerably darker out on the balcony than inside the apartment… “Then you’ve reached your limits, Conner. You need to go and lie down.”

Conner grimaces. “I think that’s a good idea, but I don’t want you to leave just because of this.”

“Who says I’m leaving right away, though?” 

Dick gets to his feet. Conner squints up at him, a question written across his face. 

“You go and get some rest. I’ll clean up and see myself out,” he says. 

Conner’s expression sours. “What? No.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Dick—”

“You can yell instructions at me from your room, if you want, but I don’t think that’ll make your head hurt any less.”

“But—” 

“Come on, hot stuff. You didn’t let it go at my place the other time. Do you really think I will?”

Conner’s shoulders droop. He doesn’t bother with a reply, only gets to his feet. He shuts his eyes before he takes a single step. 

“Your room is behind the frosted glass doors, right?” Dick asks. He slides open the balcony door. 

Krypto’s ears perk up at the sound. He gets up from where he’s been napping most of the evening and comes to sniff at Conner’s legs. When Conner doesn’t pet or even acknowledge him, he growls. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Conner mutters. He still doesn’t move. His eyes are still closed. 

“Let’s get your dad to his room,” Dick tells Krypto. He reaches out, grabs Conner by the hand and starts leading them back into the living room, Krypto right behind them. Once inside, the dog trots over to the frosted glass doors and gives another low growl. 

“You are a doll,” Dick tells Krypto, and looks at Conner over his shoulder. “Are you okay with me coming into your bedroom?” 

“Of course, but you don’t need to do that. Take me there, I mean.”

“Nurse mode has been activated, and you know how hard it is to turn such things off.” 

Conner grunts in defeat. “I keep a flashlight by the bed, if you need additional light,” he offers. 

“Understood, Mr. Kent,” Dick says, and pulls the frosted glass doors open. 

It’s hard to make out much of Conner’s bedroom in the dark. The lights from the rest of the apartment give Dick enough visibility to make out the floor to ceiling closets on the opposite side of the doors. The room is as narrow and long as the rest of the apartment. There are more frosted glass doors to the left, which probably lead to the bathroom. To the right he sees a short and elongated nightstand, then Conner’s bed, and after that, there is another sliding door, half-drawn floor-to-ceiling curtains that lead to…

“So you have a whole other balcony right outside your room?” he asks in a whisper. 

“They’re the second best thing about this apartment, after the kitchen,” Conner replies, and the tiredness seeps into every word. 

Dick hums his agreement. He doesn’t let go of Conner’s hand until he’s sitting on the bed. 

“I won’t sleep yet,” Conner says. He rubs his palms across the good side of his face “I want to walk you out.”

“You don’t have to,” Dick says, walking to the other end of the room so he can pull the curtain closed. 

“I want to,” Conner insists. “I’ll take something for the pain, but I’ll stay awake.”

“If you insist,” Dick concedes. He squeezes Conner’s shoulder as he walks past the bed and towards the door. 

“I’ll be quick,” he calls, and finds Krypto waiting for him right outside the bedroom. 

“Do you want to be the sous chef this time?” he asks, rubbing the dog’s ears. After getting a friendly growl in reply, Dick smiles. “All right, bud, let’s do this quick and quiet. Your dad needs silence right now.” 

Krypto does a little jump. Dick faces the kitchen, does a quick scan of the area, then gets to work. 

He turns the water on low at the sink and washes all the dishes, including the ones they’d left on the balcony. He finds the cleaning supplies under the sink, sprays every surface with an odorless blue liquid, and wipes everything down. 

He goes out to the balcony, makes sure everything there is wiped down as well, and comes back to the kitchen to dry the dishes and put them away. 

Krypto stays with him the whole time, offering big doggy smiles and moral support. What else could Dick ask for? 

“I still want to adopt you, just so you know,” Dick says. He feeds Krypto an extra treat, then calls, “Conner?” 

Conner walks out of his room after a minute. He’s barefoot, his hair is sticking out in every single direction, and he’s unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way down, leaving his chest and stomach in full glorious display. 

Dick’s mouth goes dry. He stares (ogles, more like it) at Conner’s chest; he can’t help it. He’d gotten an eyeful at the station, but it’s not like that sufficed. It’s not like this suffices either, because even with the bandages, the more Dick looks at Conner’s pecs the more he wants to march over there and bury his face between—

Conner speaks. Dick knows because he sees his mouth moving, but he doesn’t hear the words. He can’t react either, not even when Conner opens his mouth for a second time and the words still don't reach Dick’s ears. 

Conner frowns. Dick notices that too, but he’s fighting off the urge to drag Conner back into the room and push him down onto the bed. 

Which he shouldn’t. He mustn’t. No matter how much he wants to, the bruises on Conner’s face and chest tell him it’s anything but the right time. Conner’s face, pinched in pain as it is, is another strong reminder that Dick is on his way out because Conner is recovering from a concussion after an already taxing evening. 

Besides, he gets the feeling sex with Conner isn’t going to be as uncomplicated and easy as he’s used to… but he’ll cross that bridge once he gets to it. 

Krypto bumps his head against Dick’s leg, making him jump but also pulling him out of his own head. 

“Dick?” Conner asks. It’s not the first time he says it, Dick is sure of it. 

“Sorry… sorry,” Dick says. He smiles, embarrassed above everything else. “I get… easily distracted sometimes, that’s all.” 

“Your face is all red.” Conner squints at him, which probably makes Dick turn even redder. Something seems to occur to him, and he looks down at himself. “Oh.” 

Dick laughs, high and nervous. “If you were anyone else, I’d accuse you of teasing me on purpose.” 

The comment makes Conner flush, and he starts buttoning up his shirt with quick, clumsy movements, which makes Dick laugh even harder. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m quite enjoying the view.” He pauses. “I honestly wouldn’t mind another show like the one I got to the station, but maybe another day when you’re feeling better.”

Conner’s hands twitch. He stops fighting with the buttons,  looks at him in confusion… and then his eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. 

“Oh,” he says again, this time with incredulity. “So that’s what was bothering you that day?”

“It wasn’t a ‘what’, it was a ‘who’, and you weren’t bothering me at all,” Dick retorts. “And you can’t blame me. You have no business looking this good.” 

“I look like a beat-up cow.” 

“Oh my God, you did not just say—” Dick begins, but Conner steps forward. He brings Dick into his arms and shuts him up with a kiss that takes his breath away. 

“Well, that wasn’t fair,” Dick protests when the kiss comes to an end. He’s gripping Conner’s upper arm with one hand, well aware that his knees have gone weak. 

“Thank you for tonight. You are the only good thing that’s happened to me this past week,” is Conner’s gentle reply. 

Dick grips his arm harder. “Still not playing fair, Kent.” 

“I’m too tired to care much about fairness right now, Dickie.”

Fuck. 

The words go straight not only to his soul but to other places. He really should leave now. 

“I had a wonderful time tonight, too,” Dick says instead. He manages to keep his voice steady. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer tonight. I usually don’t get tired so fast.”

Jesus. Christ. 

“Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me another day, won’t you?” Dick says. He’s trying very hard not to hyperventilate. 

“I will.” Conner vows, and kisses him again. “Good night, gorgeous.” 

Dick is left rooted in place and trying not to combust after that. Frozen, he watches Conner and Krypto head for the door. Conner picks up the jacket Dick had brought with him, the one he’d never returned. Without hesitation, Conner unfolds it and holds it out to him. 

Dick’s not sure how his legs manage to get him to the front door. Somehow he makes it there, though, and somehow he lets Conner slide the jacket over his shoulders, and somehow he slides his own arms through the sleeves. 

“I’ll bring it back,” he hears himself say. 

“I know.”

There’s one more kiss, the last one for tonight, and then the end finally comes. 

“Good night, Conner,” he says. “Good night, Krypto.”

“Sleep well, Dickie.”

Dick holds his breath. He doesn’t let it out until he’s walking down the first flight of stairs. He gets back to the lobby, walks out of the building. 

Once outside, he looks up at the night sky. 

He’s fucked. Ten times over and under. He’s so screwed. But it’s not like this is a new discovery, is it? He is fucked… and for once, that might actually be a good thing.