Archive of Our Own

Tim wasn’t entirely sure how it started—scratch that, he did, but it felt like ancient history since it had been going on for so long now. Same time, same place, same drink, a different ten dollar bill. Sometimes he’d catch a glimpse of a leather jacket or the flash of a red helmet. Other times, the only company he had at the top of the fire escape was the wind and the scent of garbage rising from the alley below.

Still, it wasn’t a bad way to end his shift at the coffeeshop, sitting on the edge of a rooftop and taking in the vigilante highway. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t run on caffeine—it was caffeine and spite, thank you very much—and preferred to relax with a cup of mint green tea on nights where he had no plans except reacquainting himself with his pillow.

On rare occasions, there would be the crunch of gravel under a heavy boot, the only warning before a masked man would take a seat beside him with a world-weary sigh. 

That was exactly what happened tonight. 

Tim offered up the still warm to-go cup full of carefully steeped Earl Grey. “Rough night?” he asked, knowing full well that after the breakout from Blackgate a few days ago, it was probably an all-hands kind of situation.

“Yeah,” the Red Hood offered as his gloved hand wrapped around the cup. “People are assholes.”

“Most are bad tippers too.”

The blithe comment caused Hood’s lips to quirk upward before his lips sealed over the plastic topper. 

“I know you have more to complain about than that, Tim.” His deep voice was hoarse, though whether it was naturally raspy or if he spent all the time shouting was still up for debate. Tim had never heard it any other way.

“I do, but considering what’s going on right now, everything else seems trivial.” He shrugged and took another sip of his green tea. 

“Perhaps I want to hear trivial. Gimme a distraction.”

Tim cast a wry glance Hood’s way. “I told you about my parents and how they refuse to help with any college expenses unless I get a business degree.”

“Yup. Poor little rich boy.”

“Shut up.” It was an old nickname now, one used ever since Hood learned he was that Tim Drake. “I got a call from Dad yesterday, wanting to know how things were. So I told him. That I’m still working two part-time jobs, my course load is growing more intense, and that I’m pretty sure my roommate is using all the time I’m away to film videos of himself for OnlyFans.” 

Hood snorted, a genuine burst of laughter that did all kinds of things to brighten his face. “And what did dear old Dad think of that?”

“He said that if I took a finance class next semester, he’d consider giving me an allowance.” Tim took another sip of tea, this one larger than the last.

It was insulting, really. Here he was working his ass off to start a career in something he loved and his parents still couldn’t understand why. The family business was all well and good, but that world wasn’t for him. Never was and never would be.

“Oooh, an allowance.” Hood’s tone was as withering as Tim’s. “You’re moving up in the world.”

“Only if I say yes and send him progress reports.” Tim shook his head. “I told him I’d consider it, but only because knowing how to read and write an expense report would help me if I ever started my own business.”

Hood snickered again and sipped his own tea. “If you were to start your own business, what would it be?”

“A cyber security firm,” came Tim’s prompt reply. “I’m taking a class on it right now and I love it. I think I’ve finally found what I’ll get my master’s in.”

“That’s fucking fantastic.” There was a note of pride in Hood’s voice, but underneath, Tim thought he heard a hint of wistfulness. “Sounds like you know what you want to be when you grow up.”

“Excuse you, I’m twenty-one.”

“Like that’s grown up.”

“Okay, fair, but it’s not like I’m a teenager anymore.” Tim absently swirled his cup around. “What about you?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“What about me?”

“What do you want to be when you grow up? No offense, but I don’t think you’re much older than me.”

Hood stilled, frowning deeply, and for a moment, Tim thought he was about to get pushed off the roof. “You know, no one has asked me that question in years.”

“Why not?”

“Because I died, that’s why.”

The man seemed very alive to Tim, but this was Gotham so looks could be deceiving. “Zombies can have dreams too, you know.”

“Seen many zombies wandering around?”

“We live in Gotham. I’ve seen everything.” Although, he was pretty sure those had been zombified rats that one time.

Hood chuckled and leaned back, taking another sip of Earl Grey. “When I was a kid, I wanted to play guitar in a rock band.”

“And what do you want to do now?”

“I think—I think I want to write a novel.”

That was interesting. And unexpected. 

Tim cocked his head to the side. “So what’s stopping you? It’s not like you need a college degree to write a book.”

Hood took another thoughtful sip of tea. “You’re right. I don’t.”

A few nights later, a new face appeared at the coffeeshop during Tim’s shift. The man ordered a cup of green tea, smirking slightly as he did like he knew something Tim didn’t. 

Just for that, Tim made sure the water was too hot, causing the tea to go bitter quickly. 

Petty, but hey, he could get away with it. Not many people knew the right temperatures different types of tea steeped at. Hell, he only knew because Hood lectured him on it, way back in the beginning. 

The man soon returned to the counter with a frown on his face, cup in hand. “Do you think you can remake this?” he asked.

Tim purposefully gave him a bored look. “Did the bag tear?”

“No, the water was too hot for the tea. Thought you guys knew how to make a good cup here.” There was a challenging look in those dark blue eyes, one that had Tim rising to the occasion.

“I don’t know where you heard that from,” he replied, taking the cup and dumping the contents down the sink. “We’re a coffee shop, not a tea shop.”

“Do you always get this mouthy with your customers?”

Tim gave the man a sharp smile as he refilled the cup and added two of the smallest ice cubes he could find. “You haven’t seen mouthy yet.”

The next time he brought a cup of Earl Grey to the roof for the Red Hood, he was surprised to find the man was already waiting for him. And smoking, with one foot up on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Which, he was technically at the top of the Gotham food chain, or really close to it, so okay, why not?

“Hi,” Tim said, completely nonplussed because seriously, they never spoke more than once every few months. Two nights in a row was a record.

“Hey.” Hood lowered the cigarette, blowing smoke away from Tim. It hung in the air before an updraft from the alley dispersed it into the night. 

Making small talk with the Red Hood seemed utterly inane, so Tim decided to go with the obvious question. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence tonight?”

“Wow, formal much?” Hood smirked, ashing his cigarette before dropping it on the roof where the rest of it was ground out under the sole of his boot.

“I’ve been listening to a bunch of English lit majors complaining about Jane Austen tonight."

Much to his surprise, Hood's jaw dropped. “You're kidding.”

“No?”

“I love Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorite books.”

Tim handed over the tea and tried really hard to keep a straight face.

Apparently it didn't go very well because Hood's eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I'm trying really hard not to judge you right now.”

“What? Is it because it's a romance novel that has a heroine who isn't a complete airhead and has some of the best character development known to man?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I totally pegged you as a Lord of the Rings or even David Eddings kind of guy.”

Hood took a sip of tea and exhaled loudly. “I fucking love both of those authors.”

“Good, then we still have something to talk about.” Tim sat down on the ledge and stared out across the rooftop opposite of them. “So, did you start writing?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“I did.” Hood took a seat beside him, legs dangling over open air. “Just snippets and passages, really. Trying to figure out what works and what doesn't.”

Tim nodded sagely, as though he had a clue what the man was talking about. Well, he sort of did. That's how he used to start forming English papers back in high school. “No plot yet?”

“Oh, I have a plot. It's just... I don't have the skill yet to bring it to life.”

“Have you tried fanfiction?”

"What?" Hood asked for the second time that night, looking at Tim like he'd grown a second head. “Why would I write fanfiction?”

“Because it takes a universe you're already familiar with and gives you a chance to explore or even build upon the existing world. For example,” Tim settled in, warming to his subject, “if you take Lord of the Rings, then you could write about the actual courtship of Faramir and Eowyn. The book only gave us a few passages to indicate it was happening, but since you like romance, you could build an entire story on that.”

Hood lowered his cup. “I thought fanfiction was just a bunch of bored housewives writing porn.”

“Excuse you, who do you think runs those websites? College students?” Tim snickered, thinking about the extensive sexual education he’d received thanks to fanfiction. It was because of the medium that he’d figured out pretty early on why his urges tended to happen around boys instead of girls. His parents didn’t know that yet, not that he was planning to tell them anytime soon. “But there's a ton of other stories out there that are anything but porn.”

“How do you know about this?”

Tim pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped at the screen to open up a browser window and his bookmarks. “Because I read Star Trek fanfiction. Have since I was in my early teens.” He handed over his phone so Hood could see. “Look, there's a Jane Austen fandom here. It's not hard to set up an account.”

“Huh.” Hood poked around for a couple of moments before returning Tim's phone to him. “You might be onto something.”

“It wouldn't hurt. Think of it as practice. Find your voice.”

“You know, for someone who's majoring in computer science, you know a lot about writing.”

“Hello, I write code. There's all kinds of ways to express yourself with it.” Tim grinned and took another sip of his own tea. “And all kinds of ways to piss off other programmers in the process.”

“You have got to be shitting me.”

Tim looked up from the book he was reading and glared. It was Jason, the tea snob who was his new regular in the early evening hours. “Do I even want to know?”

The man gestured at the book. “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? Are you for real?”

“What rock have you been living under where you didn't know this was a thing?” Tim retorted. “It's been out since 2009. There was even a movie.”

Which he hadn't watched first, so bonus points to him as that was typically his preferred way of deciding if a book was worth the effort.

“It's a classic!”

“So that means it can't be parodied?”

Jason looked like the very thought offended him more than anything. “It's just…”

“Just what?”

“It's my favorite book,” he finished, rather lamely as though he realized his argument wasn't holding water.

Tim pointedly turned a page. “Then I probably shouldn't tell you about Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters.”

“WHAT?”

“... And then he just got so flustered he stomped out without his backpack or notebook.”

“That so?” Hood didn't seem as amused by the story as Tim thought he would be.

“I made a point to turn my back to the door when he came back in a few minutes later to get his stuff.” Tim shrugged and sucked at the straw of the iced green tea he'd made for himself before trekking up the fire escape with the hot Earl Grey Hood still insisted on even though it was now summer.

“I'm sure he appreciated that.”

Tim glared at the other man. “I don't know what you're bitching about. You're the one who tells me I need to read more.”

“You do. But not that crap.”

“Excuse you, but unless you give me a reading list, I'll read what I want.”

“I might just do that.” Hood set his cup on the ledge and dug into a pouch on his utility belt. His sole concession to summer was ditching the leather jacket and using a belt instead. “Here,” he said, handing over a slip of paper.

“What's this?” Tim unfolded it and tried to make sense of the words.

RedHoodWrites

“My username for that website you showed me a couple months back.”

Tim grinned as he tried not to bounce in excitement. “You did it. You're writing fanfiction.”

“I am.” Hood sounded more than a little embarrassed. “You had a good point about using it as a way to find my voice. So I thought, perhaps if you have the time, you can take a look at what I've posted and give me some feedback?”

“I'd love to.” All thoughts of finishing the current chapter in his book went out the window, replaced with plans of curling up with his laptop and Red Hood's fanfiction. “I can't believe you're asking me.”

“You're the only one who knows I'm writing at all.” Hood tried for a nonchalant shrug, but Tim saw right through it. He was nervous. “Seems fair enough for you to critique it.”

“It's called commenting, not critiquing.”

“Same thing. I just want another set of eyes from someone whose opinion I actually give two shits about.”

Tim grinned, then sighed. “I suppose that means I'll have to actually read some real Jane Austen then.”

Hood returned the grin with one of his own. “Damn right you do.”

Tim sighed as he swiped the page on his Kindle, twitching in discomfort as he accidentally put pressure on the freshly stitched wound that now graced the upper left side of his abdomen. This was not how he intended to find the time to read Hood’s favorite book, but since he didn’t have many options at the moment, he took advantage of it. 

He’d also found a free edition, so bonus points all around.

There was a quiet knock on the door to his hospital room. 

Tim looked up, expecting to see the night nurse checking in to see why he wasn’t asleep yet. What he wasn’t prepared for was the Red Hood waltzing into his room with two large cups in his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t come visit my friend when he’s laid up in the hospital?” Hood replied with a cheeky grin. 

“It’s past visitor’s hours.”

“Like they’d let me in during the day.”

“I don’t think they’d let you in at night either.”

“Nice to see that bruise on your face hasn’t diminished your sass.” Hood handed over an iced green tea.

Tim suddenly realized what night it was. “How did you find out I was here?”

“I read the news. Drake Heir Mugged made more than a few local headlines.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah, well. At least I knew why you stood me up tonight.” Hood took a loud sip from his travel mug. “Whatcha readin’?”

“Your favorite book.”

“Without the zombies?”

“I left that in my locker at work. My roommate stopped by earlier and brought my Kindle. Hospital wifi sucks, but hey, I got it for free.” 

“Free is good.” Hood sat down, legs spread wide as he leaned back in the uncomfortable looking chair. “So, you rate a private room, I see.”

“Perks of being a Drake.” Tim sighed and sipped his tea. Caffeine of any sort was on his no-no list, so this was a treat of epic proportions. “Although, I’m almost afraid to see what strings are being attached to it.”

“Parents footing the bill?”

He nodded. “They have to, otherwise they’ll lose face. And we can’t have that, now can we?” His voice took on a falsetto as he mocked a tone he used to hear from his mother while he was growing up.

“Damn. That sucks.” Hood sounded like he genuinely commiserated with him. “What do you think will happen?”

“Not sure yet. I’m supposed to be released tomorrow, which means I’ll probably end up with my parents for at least a few days.”

“What’s your recovery time looking like?”

“I’ve got a broken wrist and I’m missing my spleen.” While Tim had managed to hold his own against his attacker, the knife the mugger pulled on him leveled the playing field rather quickly. Especially once it slid between his ribs. “Both mean I’m out of commission for at least the next several weeks. But…” he trailed off, uncertain if he should continue or not.

“But what?” Trust Hood to push, even though the opening had been pretty clear.

“My health insurance is through my parents and until I’m working again, everything is being paid for out of their pockets. I just paid rent right before this happened, so I’ve got nothing in my bank account.” 

“You’re completely dependent on them, then?”

Tim nodded. “I don’t like it, but I also don’t like the alternative. I’m going to need preventative antibiotics because hello, Gotham. And pretty much every vaccine known to man besides the ones I had as a kid. I will have next to no immune system until my other organs step up to the plate, which is going to take several months.”

“Do I need to get you a hamster ball for a get-well gift?”

“Shut up.”

The one nice thing about being mugged and losing his spleen in the middle of the summer was that Tim didn’t have to worry about missing classes. 

Everything else sucked.

He sat on the familiar ledge above the coffeeshop he was unable to work at—but he still had a job there, so that counted for something—and sipped what was essentially a pity iced mocha from the new closing barista who’d taken over for him. Beside him sat a duffle bag and the messenger bag that contained his most precious possession.

His laptop.

Classes really needed to start soon because then he’d be able to work in the technology lab again, even if it was only the in-take desk. The supervisor there was already on board with it. He just needed to figure out what to do between now and then. Three weeks was a long time to live on the streets. At least his antibiotic prescription would last for the duration.

A crunch of gravel behind him was the only warning Tim had before Hood strode up beside him.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?”

Tim waved idly. “A fat lot of nothing.”

“Got into a fight with your parents, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” 

“Did you tell them where to shove it?”

“Of course.”

Hood sat down with a heavy sigh and snagged the iced mocha out of Tim’s good hand. “This sucks,” he announced after taking a quick sip.

“I could only con a free drink for myself. Kinda hard to beg for two.”

“Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for a time, which honestly drove Tim up the wall as it reminded him far too much of what he’d left behind. The fights, the pointed comments about his career choice, his medical care, all of them were punctuated by prolonged silence while his parents waited for him to cave to their whim.

Rather than put up with it anymore, he’d packed his few belongings and walked out without a single word. They hadn’t been home, so odds were likely they were just realizing he was gone.

“I left,” he finally said, his gaze on some distant point on the horizon. “My parents bought out my half of the lease on my apartment, so my old roommate is now making videos wherever the hell he wants. He wasn’t a total dick though, so most of my things were still there.”

“What about couch-surfing? You’ve got friends, right?”

“I do, but none of them are local.”

Hood’s gaze dropped to the bags beside Tim. “You have nowhere to go.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Not until classes start. I’ve already applied for emergency housing, so we’ll see what happens there.”

“You’re an idiot.” Hood rose to his feet and picked up the duffle bag. “Come on.”

Tim slurped the last of his mocha. “Where are we going?”

“I got a place you can stay until you get your shit figured out.”

“I’m not asking for handouts.” His pride wouldn’t let him.

“And I’m not in the habit of giving them. Now get your ass in gear and let’s go.”

The apartment couldn’t be more spartan if it tried, but Tim was in no place to complain. More importantly, it was clean, which he really needed right now. 

It also had a great internet connection, which he took shameless advantage of.

One night, there was a tap on the window. 

Tim looked up from his laptop, which was opened to a page of LOTR fanfiction written by RedHoodWrites.  

Hood crawled in through the window with a drink carrier in tow. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Tim got up to hold the curtain aside.

“Thanks. I still don’t know why I put those things up.”

“You could try using the front door. It’s your own place.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hood held up the carrier and gave it a little shake. “Pick your poison.”

Tim recognized the logo from his coffeeshop. “Only one of those has an option for a straw, so I’m taking this one.” He reached for the iced green tea.

“Good, I’d probably have decked you if you’d taken this one.” Hood removed his drink and dropped the carrier on the kitchen table. “I had to practically spell out how to make a proper cup of tea to your replacement.”

“I hope you didn’t scare her. Not everyone can deal with the Red Hood descending on them with an insanely detailed tea order.” That reminded Tim of the other regular person who did. Jason, the tea snob. “I wonder if she’s butted heads with Jason yet.”

“Jason?”

Tim nodded and returned to his place on the couch, Hood trailing along after him. “He’s the guy who freaked out nearly as bad as you did over my choice of reading material. Speaking of,” he picked up his laptop and turned the screen to Hood, “look what I’m reading tonight.”

Hood draped an arm across the back of the couch and leaned over. This close, Tim could smell the tea on his breath, as well as the cigarette he must have had recently. “Ride the Wind… Fuck.”

“What a title.” Tim grinned, nudging him in the ribs. “Good thing I noticed the T-rating, otherwise, I’d be wondering when the porn starts.”

“Hey, you said I should try writing what I know.”

“I didn’t think you’d take me literally and start with Faramir and Eowyn.” 

“You know these characters better than you do Lizzie and Darcy.”

Tim accepted that as a valid defense. “Well, I did finish the book. So feel free to start with P&P anytime.”

“Any suggestions?” Hood returned to his side of the couch, but didn’t remove his arm. If anything, he appeared to settle in more.

Tim had a feeling this question would come, so he was prepared. “I’d like to see you take a look at Lydia and Wickham’s relationship. Does she ever realize how self-absorbed she is? What would happen if Wickham just up and left, perhaps to the US or India or wherever it was that men went to find their fortune at that time?”

Hood snorted in amusement. “You don’t know history very well, do you?”

“Excuse you, but I’m very much a STEM person. History was always a class I was lucky to pass because I could memorize dates so damned well.” 

“Whatever. So you want to see something with Lydia and Wickham,” Hood mused. “I think I can do that.”

“Only if you want to,” Tim was quick to point out. “This is your writing, so write what you want.”

“I saw something online about accepting prompts?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh man. You have no idea what can crop up when you do that.”

“Like what?”

Instead of answering, Tim opened another browser tab and quickly brought up another site. Wordlessly, he handed the laptop over and waited.

Hood didn’t disappoint. “What the fuck is tentacle porn?”

A summer storm was rolling through one night as Tim settled in at the little dinette to eat the sandwich he’d made for his late supper. He was getting really good at the whole one handed thing, though chopsticks with his right hand were still a work in progress. 

From his laptop, the ten o’clock news streamed, live for once as he’d managed to catch it at the top of the hour. Normally, he read the news but tonight, he felt like listening to other voices besides his own. Hood hadn’t made an appearance in over a week, though Tim knew he was still around since he’d updated a chapter on the story he was writing that explored the complex relationship between Lydia and Wickham. 

The alert had come earlier this afternoon and Tim planned to read it as he was winding down for bed. 

“Our top story tonight, the notorious Red Hood strikes again,” announced the news anchor in a serious tone. 

Tim’s head jerked up to watch the screen, frozen in mid-bite. 

“In a rather spectacular display of violence, Gotham’s rogue Bat set fire to a warehouse by the Dixon Docks near Tricorner. After firefighters gained control of the blaze, five bodies were discovered inside. Sources in the GCPD were able to confirm that the Red Hood had been spotted near the scene…”

The voice droned on, but Tim had already zoned out. 

What the hell was he doing here? 

It was like the little warning bell that all Gothamites were born with finally decided to start screaming. How could the Red Hood be his friend when he was also a freaking crime lord? This was the man who’d killed nearly a dozen people, chopped off their heads, and stuffed them all in a duffel bag to make a point. Tim had been seventeen at the time and more than a little disturbed by the whole thing, though it was quickly buried under the news about Blüdhaven going up in a mushroom cloud. 

And it wasn’t like Hood had stopped either. He’d just gotten less showy about it after he got whatever it was he’d wanted. The rumor mill said he was a former Bat, spurred no doubt by the blood-red emblem across his chest. But that was just rumor, some kind of wishful thinking to give Hood a moral code or to even romanticize him like…

Like an antihero from some of his favorite novels. 

Tim shoved away from the table and raced to the small bedroom where he started packing his meager belongings. 

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even be friends with the man. Did living here make him an accomplice? How could it if all he’d done was mooch off the wifi and the allowance he’d been given for groceries?

What really sucked was, even as he shoved his laptop into his messenger bag, Tim found he didn’t want to actually leave. It wasn’t because he had nowhere else to go. It was…

It was because he genuinely liked the guy. The Red Hood he knew wasn’t the one he heard about on the news. The Hood he knew was trying to kick a lifelong smoking habit, was a tea snob of the highest order, and was writing fanfiction because Tim had suggested it.

He tried to blink away the blue screen his brain had become, but no matter how hard he tried, one little thought remained.

Possibly, maybe, there was a slim chance that he might… like Hood as something more than a friend. 

But that was impossible. It was ridiculous. 

It was…

The truth.

With that thought chasing through his brain, Tim fumbled his way into his hoodie, grabbed his stuff with his good hand, and all but ran out the door.

Perhaps it was obvious in retrospect, but Tim really didn’t think the Red Hood would find him so fast. It wasn’t like he had many options—okay, he didn’t have any options besides returning to his parents with his tail tucked between his legs—and the roof above the coffeeshop where they’d spent so much time together was probably a pretty good place to start looking. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Hood asked, his helmet gleaming dully in the rain and the single light bulb shining above the rooftop access door Tim was taking shelter against. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“What do you care?” Tim snapped, ignoring the desire to wipe his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“I care because I see my friend acting like an idiot. What happened?” Hood took a step forward and Tim flinched at his outstretched hand.

It fell limply and Hood blew out a breath. “You saw the news tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t kill those people.”

“Oh, and I suppose the smoke inhalation did?” Tim snapped, glaring as Hood crouched in front of him.

“They were dead when I got there. It was a trap and I walked right into it.” The man shrugged like this was an everyday occurrence.

“Why should I believe you?”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

This time, Tim allowed himself to sniff and averted his eyes. It was the rain on his face, not tears. “I’ve never understood why you’re always so nice to me,” he said, changing the subject. “Why you helped me.”

“Because you helped me,” Hood retorted. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? That someone helped me and didn’t expect a damned thing in return?”

“But that’s what…” Tim stopped, uncertain if he should even finish that sentence.

“That’s what friends do?” Hood finished for him. “Tim, I want to be your friend. Hell, I’d love to be more than that. You’re the only person I know who treats me like I’m a normal person, as someone who has interests outside of blowing shit up.”

Tim remembered back to how this all started, to the night where on this very roof he’d asked Hood what he wanted to be when he grew up. There’d been hesitation in his voice, but also wonder, like he’d been revealing a part of himself that hadn’t had the chance to see the light of day for a very long time.

He’d done that. He was the one who’d broken through Hood’s tough outer shell to discover the man within. 

Then his brain replayed what else Hood had said and for the second time that night, Tim blue screened. 

I want to be your friend. Hell, I’d love to be more than that.

“Do you really mean that? Tim asked, blinking quick as the rain started falling harder. 

“Mean what?” Hood inched closer, reaching for the sides of his helmet. 

“That you…” Tim paused and licked his lips. “That you want to be more?”

“I’ve never lied to you, Tim,” he repeated. The stern frown of the helm let out a faint hiss that was almost washed away by the rain. But then the front panel swung upward on hidden hinges, revealing a face that, for the first time, was unmasked.

Tim gasped, recognizing it. “Jason.”

The man nodded, a faint smile playing along the lines of his mouth. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

All the little clues fell into place and Tim huffed out a broken laugh. “You’re like, my most annoying customer ever.”

“And you’re the sassiest barista I’ve ever met.” 

“Is that your real name?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah.” He scooted closer, the meager distance between them vanishing as he dropped to his knees and raised his arms, bracketing Tim against the wall. This close, the rain all but stopped as it fell against Jason’s broad back and the raised faceplate. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, voice falling into a familiar timbre that really was obvious now.

There were a million different answers that came to mind, the most important one being that they really needed to talk things out first, but rather than use words, Tim answered another way.

Closing the distance between them, he pressed his lips to Jason’s. 

Strong arms fell around him, holding him close, as the kiss deepened. 

They might have stayed there longer except for the bright flash of lightning overhead, followed almost instantly by a crack of thunder. 

Jason drew away and frowned up at the sky. “I think that’s our signal to leave.” He turned his gaze back on Tim. “Will you come back to the apartment with me?”

This time, Tim used his words. “I will. And when we get there, I’ll make us both some tea.”

“Just don’t overheat the water.”

“Hey, here’s a thought. Shut up or I’ll make you coffee instead.”