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“i wish you could be in my body so you know what it feels like to love you” is a very sweet apology and i’ve been mulling it over for the past few days but i will not be forgiving my bumass bf
tim and reader if they were schrucy for my peanuts enthusiasts!!! pianist timberly. not proofread lol and underfinished sry gang. idek whats in it i wrote most of it in like june. hah! 😋🤞law school killed me guys. like actually slaughtered and gutted my soul.
—
“How long are you gonna practice for today? It’s been an hour. I want you to help me with the paper we got assigned in English. You actually read the book, didn’t you?” The truth was you didn’t have anything better to do, leaning across the side of Tim’s shiny baby grand piano. The better half of your Tuesdays and Thursdays were spent there, after classes. And while at first Tim barked and growled about scratches and dents, it softened to the occasional murmur and mutter once he realized you had no intention of stopping.
You were a constant he grew accustomed to, with your constant musing and questions. It was no different to hear you than it was the ticking of a metronome now. Responding was like breathing, he didn’t have to stop his playing for it. “No one asked you to stay. Sparknotes is free.”
His shortness was a constant you paid no mind. Tim liked you obviously, or he wouldn’t keep you around. After all, you were lovely and everyone adored you. He was just shy about it, or maybe he just didn’t know it yet. You were sure he’d come around, eventually.
“What are you playing anyway?”
“Concerto No. 2 by Rachmaninoff.”
“It’s lovely.” Turning your head, you spared him a glance to watch his expression. He was always so pretty; his features were so so gentle and he carried himself like a feathered thing—delicate and graceful. “Does it remind you of anyone?”
“Not exactly.” Unwavering as he usually was, his eyes were glued to the sheet music. Your eyes narrowed.
“No one at all? No one sweet and lovely?” you pressed on.
“Nope,” he responded. Straight and narrow, for all his gentle nature had to offer he always sounded blunt with you.
You crossed your arms with a huff, “you were supposed to say me.”
The music ceased and all you could hear was the ticking of the metronome. Tim stared at the score for a couple beats before shaking his head. “You’re not like this song at all. You’re more like Beethoven’s Hammerklavier.”
Blessed with attention, you turned to face him with a grin. Always forgiving for him. “Is that one sweeter?”
“No, it’s terrifying.” He didn’t explain further, and you knew he wouldn’t when he resumed his playing like nothing had been said.
“You really know how to make someone swoon.” Even if you stopped smiling, you knew better than to let your feelings get hurt; shy boys always say the darnedest things.
“Do you think you’ll like me when we’re older?” you asked once. His answer, like all things, wouldn’t deter you. But it might’ve made things easier to endure.
“Why would I like you when we’re older?”
You shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get really good at playing Chopin or maybe you’ll just like the way I look. You’d miss me if I’d leave wouldn’t you? Maybe you like me now and don’t know it.”
With a snort he finished his piece, shuffling through his sheet music with his delicate musician hands. “Or maybe I wouldn’t notice if you left, or I would finally know peace!”
And even if you were always forgiving and patient, you had your limits. There was only so much you could take in succession. Furrowing your brows, you picked your bag off the ground with a huff. You turned before you left to yell at him one more time before you left, not that he’d notice for anything. “I really am gonna be gone one day and you’re gonna feel sorry you said that!”
True to his nature Tim never reacted til you left. He wasn’t entirely sure why either, maybe he was shy about it— or maybe he just didn’t want you to be right about anything. Most of the time it didn’t matter when you yelled, but sometimes when you were trembling with it, it was almost enough to make his stomach drop.
He stared a little longer than usual at the door when you left. Time alone was time well spent; you were obnoxious when you interrupted, and you did often if you were feeling energetic. But he spent all this time learning to play through all you had to say, it was a waste not to have you there to say it. And while he adored playing more than anything, no one else adored his playing half as much as you.
Whatever you’d meant about being gone wasn’t serious, where would you go? But it wasn’t a welcome thought and he felt bad to consider it. At least for a little while.
A week later he learned you were very serious. You moved halfway across the country and you hadn’t mentioned it. He had to find out when you waved goodbye to everyone else. You might’ve said something if you thought he’d hear you, but you didn’t.
Beyond being very serious, you turned out to be very right too. In the weeks following your absence he’d make up questions you’d ask and he’d answer them to an empty room.
What color do you think looks best on me?
“The one you wear the most.”
You would’ve crinkled your nose when he said that. What color do I wear the most?
“Your favorite one.”
That would’ve made you huff, maybe stomp your foot. You don’t pay attention at all!
Then he wouldn’t argue, but he’d silently note that he very much did pay attention; in the way you held your back straighter when you felt cute, or sulked on a bad hair day, or the way you’d strut around in your favorite pair of jeans. He just didn’t want you catching on.
In the months that followed he played pieces he thought you might comment on, pretty ones that you’d ask the name of. Or the favorites you’d requested from him on occasion. Anything to feel like someone was listening, and people would listen but not in the boisterous way you did.
He heard your quips in every composition he played, even as the years went by and your face got harder to recall, he couldn’t let go of your presence.
Autumns in the city were particularly spectacular in their earliest weeks, just as a few leaves were starting to trade their green for reds and browns. Summer was his favorite, fiery and passionate and dramatic like a certain requiem he couldn’t shake. But autumn, especially at this time, was a close second.
The colder morning air felt the way biting into a crisp apple does, snappy and sharp and buoyant and sweet. The scent of cinnamon and pumpkin had a way of permeating about anywhere you could walk. And it’s when he’d first met you, just as the first leaf of the season fell all those autumns ago.
Those first three weeks of autumn; tepid tipping on turbulent, when the warmth of wrath met the mellowing of fall, was when he was reminded of you most. You and all your bark and the way you decided before he could introduce himself, ‘I’m going to marry you.’
What a liar you turned out to be.
He chanted it to himself sometimes when he missed you, not that it was your fault you had to leave. But it was your fault for nagging him all the time, hanging around him, and telling him he had lovely eyes. What a liar you turned out to be. What a liar you turned out to be.
He was so caught up in it he didn’t notice the other person walking in his direction, just as preoccupied with their phone as he was with his head. The collision made him drop his sheet music. Your fault, again, for distracting him.
Heaving a sigh, Tim resolved to curse you later. When he got to the practice room. Even gone you found ways to inconvenience him.
“Hey!” Just his luck the person he bumped into had a temper. “You should at least apologize when you— Tim?”
Turning around he had half the mind to bark
back but the words died in his throat when he saw you. With the dawning sun coming up behind you, it was almost so angelic he considered calling it a mirage and walking away. He knew it was bad, but to the point of hallucination?
But mirages didn’t make his throat go dry and activate his fight or flight like this. His body had half a mind to sprint away, but his feet wouldn’t move if the earth had split open.
If he could think he might consider what a stroke of fate it was, to run into you on a sidewalk, or to see you again at the same time as he did for the first. None of it registered, however. For the first time in a long time, he thought nothing at all. Couldn’t form a thought if he tried.
You were really there. A small, “Oh. It’s you,” was all he could muster.
“C’mon,” you scoffed, “can’t you be happier to see me?” You’d changed but you hadn’t. You were taller, slightly, and your hair was different. But you still had that smile that your eyes couldn’t shake and that air of confidence a tempest couldn’t put to rest.
“Liszt,” you giggled, picking up the sheets strewn across the sidewalk. “You haven’t changed one bit! Are you going to practice? Can I come?”
He shrugged, fumbling fingers scraping the pavement to pick up the remaining pages. He’d scream if he could scream, break into a sprint, leap for joy— everything and anything to make sense of the situation. But his face said otherwise, serene bordering stoic as ever.
“Could I ever stop you?”
“You’re supposed to say you miss me,” you gave him the ones you had, leaning down to infiltrate his sightline trained on the ground. “Did you?”
Flustered, Tim coughed and pulled himself upright. Furrowing his brows, he brought the papers up to cover the lower half of his face as he turned his gaze anywhere but you.
“It was peaceful when you were gone,” he muttered.
“That’s not a no!”
The more you had to say, the easier it was to fall into routine. It was like you never left at all, and it felt natural like it was always meant to be you draped across the wood he poured his soul in.
“Will you be going to that gala on Friday? It’ll be the first time I get to see everyone again! No one knows I’m back, you know, it was meant to be a secret so you can’t tell. Not that you would tell but I’m warning you anyway.”
He didn’t reply, tapping away at the keys like you said nothing at all. Maybe you had said nothing at all. The way things settled like they never changed, still and comfortable in his ambient noise. Being back felt like waking from a long dream, but this was reality and it was the way things had always been.
“This one is pretty, I don’t think I’ve heard it before. Are you cheating on Beethoven?” It really was. A tender piece, something more cradling even than Liebestraum. It had a lilt to its melody, pulling at you like a lover leading your arm to somewhere sunny.
“How do you know it isn’t Beethoven?”
You grinned. You’d heard enough Beethoven to last a lifetime. In Tim’s attention, he was your rival, but as a composer, you knew him intimately. “I listened to him while I was away, it was like you were playing for me—“
“I don’t play for you,” he barked.
You shrugged, waving your hand dismissively. “I know him well enough to know what he doesn’t sound like. What is it called?”
“…whatever you’d like.” If you bothered to look at him, you would’ve seen how red his ears got past his ever stoic facade.
“I’m serious, what if I want to listen to it again.”
“Then I’ll play it again.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “When you talk like that, Timmy, it’s almost like you like me.”
Silence. At least from his lips. His hands kept on, more frantic than before as if playing faster would cure him of you.
“Who could like someone like you?” he huffed like a child in trouble, spitting words in quiet screams behind closed doors. “I wouldn’t like you unless you were the last person on Earth.”
You sat bolt upright, whipping around to look at him. His face was pressed closer to the keys than usual, brows furrowed with a vendetta as the inklings of a red flush seeped into his cheeks.
“Did you say ‘if’ or ‘unless!’”
Tim coughed, taking his hands off the keys to rifle through his sheet music. Even obscured by the papers he shuffled in front of his face, his blush was evident now, paired with the shifting of his gaze anywhere but you. It was cute enough to make you giddy.
“…I’ll admit I said unless.”
“Oh Timberly,” you cried, leaning dramatically against the wood of his piano, “I never thought I’d see the day!”
Setting his papers down, he turned his head away from you. Slumped over with his hands resting dejectedly on the keys, he looked so defeated by you. “Other people are still alive you know.”
He seldom was. Defeated by you, that is. In all the time you’d known him he was ready to oppose you forever and a day. And it felt good, like he had that fight in him because he wasn’t tired of you. But things wear down, you supposed, he must be tired of you by now.
You cleared your throat and took it as a cue to go. So foolish in your younger years, chasing after something that only tolerated you.
“Sorry for bothering you bud! All these years, I know I’ve been a bit much at times.”You rose to stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I have to go take care of some things, but I’ll see you Friday! If you decide to go.”
And in true Tim fashion he didn’t stop you when you left. He hardly said a word. Pacific, murky blue eyes trailing you on your way out. Just as quickly as you crashed back into his life, you’d just breezed out again.
You were a bit much. Very much, even. It was outrageous. Outrageous and unceasingly unjust. He heard you loud and clear when you were present, you didn’t have to have the nerve to speak longer in his mind when you weren’t. You were so much he found crumbs everywhere, in a stranger with the same hair color or when someone looped their o’s and dotted their i’s the way you so often did. You were far too much. The way you’d make him pour hours into his piano hoping he could string together notes that would sound even a fraction as mellifluous as your laughter.
The truth was he didn’t want to go to the gala at all. Stupid. His time was better spent elsewhere, hammering out documents or studying sheet music. He didn’t need to go this time either. Dick had him covered as the Wayne representative.
He didn’t know why he did anyway. Sipping at whatever they put in the champagne flutes, it was palpable. Speaking when spoken to, the pleasantries were bearable.
He hoped they thought he cared, about whatever they were saying, but he wasn’t listening. He was looking around the room for nothing, scanning to scan.
Tim heard you before he saw you. Laughing with every ounce of spirit you had in you, hand clutched over your mouth as if you were trying to keep your soul from escaping. Bright eyed, light incarnate, that was the you he knew.
Clearing his throat, he flashed a smile at whoever he was speaking to. “It was wonderful seeing you, if you’ll excuse me.”
Breaking away, he made his way through the crowd. He didn’t come because you asked of course, that would be ridiculous. He just felt like it. But it would be rude not to say hi, considering you’d mentioned it and all.
What he failed to hear was what you were laughing about. Or rather, who you were laughing about.
Head thrown back, cheeks flushed. That was what you were so bright eyed about. Looking up at some guy that had his hand conveniently wrapped around your waist. The idiot was laughing right back. He couldn’t have been that funny. You didn’t like funny. Tim knew that. It wasn’t serious.
But he also knew that look in your eyes. The way the stars imbued themselves in you to make everything else disappear. Like you were struck by lightning and brought up by a tractor beam and so enamored; so very enamored there was nowhere else to be. You used to look at him that way.
Not that it mattered. Of course. That would be ridiculous. He didn’t come for you, after all.
“Tim you made it!” The grating voice of his adopted brother, accompanied by the invasive hand on his shoulder, tore him out of his stupor. “Oh! Bro are you okay?”
“I’m fine. What are you talking about?”
Dick shrugged, pulling out his phone to open the camera app. “You look red. Like more than usual.”
“Tim!” Dick’s loud ass caught your attention. He was gonna kill him later.
Breaking away from your entanglement, you walked over with open arms. “I didn’t think you’d come!”
Pushing away Dick’s phone, Tim turned on his heel before you could get much closer. He couldn’t feel it before, but his face was burning now.
“I gotta go,” he muttered, disappearing into the crowd. Blending with the throng of people like he was never there.
You’d never seen him walk away so quickly. In fact, you’d hardly seen him walk away at all. It was always you leaving him in the practice room. Tim would insist as much. This was a first.
“What’s gotten into him?” you muttered. Certainly you didn’t do anything offensive this time, you’d hardly said hello.
You concluded later that you must’ve done something. In the confines of his cryptic mind he’d villainized you in some way, you were certain. It made enough sense, he usually was annoyed with you. But for all his criticisms he’d never ignored you like this.
In the week following he wouldn’t look at you directly when you greeted him. He’d nod if he accidentally caught your gaze and you waved. He responded to none of the TikToks you’d sent to “test the waters.” Or the texts.
Then it was two weeks. He coughed when you asked when he’d be practicing.
The nerve.
If he was going to be mad over nothing, he could at least tell you what nothing was.
“What is your problem?” You came in heated. You didn’t have to ask when he was practicing, it was just a formality. You knew it down to the second. The way he’d be sat by 3, like clockwork.
“What’s up with you?” he barked back. Finally a reaction. If interrupting piano wouldn’t bring it out of him, nothing would’ve.
“That’s what I just asked you. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks!”
“I always ignore you.”
You glared at him with every ounce of admonishment you could muster. The audacity of this man. He knew what he was doing.
But did he? He glared right back at you as if it weren’t true. That this was just the way things were, you’d probably forgotten it, choosing only to keep the most rose tinted parts of your memory.
You held his gaze. Although it felt like you were staring forever, and there wasn’t an ounce of clarity found in any of it.
You broke first. Shifting your eyes away with a ‘whatever,’ you tossed your bag to a forgotten corner and made your way over to sit down on the floor with your back to his bench.
Tim didn’t speak and you didn’t expect him to. He only ever broke silences he understood. He was staring though, you could feel it burning through the back of your skull. Waiting.
“Well don’t stop for me. Play the pretty one from the other day if you aren’t preoccupied.”
“Why should I?” He’d meant to be snarky but his heart wasn’t in it. It came out half baked and borderline pathetic.
“You said you would.” Again he was silent. “Or if you won’t, at least tell me what it is so I can look it up later.”
He wasn’t one to talk anyway, you knew that. Certain as the dawning sun, you knew it. So you weren’t surprised when the first notes rang through the air instead of any words he could’ve conceived.
It wasn’t the gentle lull he played the first time, but it was the same song. This time it sounded something desperate, like a blind thing clawing to be seen in a way it never would.
And it ended the way it started, abrupt and halting. This was an accusation.
“Are you going to tell me what I did wrong?”
“I wrote it for you. Whatever you want to
call it, it’s yours. Well not that I sat down and thought about you, I don’t do that. Not on purpose. You just occupy whatever you want to occupy. Force yourself into every crevice you’ll fit in, that’s how you’ve always been.” You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or himself. It was directed at you, that was certain, but it came out rehearsed. In a way akin to something you’d tell yourself again and again.
“Well, it’s very pretty—“
“I’ve written you so many of them. More than I’d ever want to, but you wouldn’t leave my mind. It’s like breathing.” Tim cut you off, although you were certain it was unintentional. He probably didn’t even hear you, sprinting for the sake of it. “You like them, don’t you? How many do I need to compose? I’ll write you a thousand if you’d ask it.”
You risked a glance backwards and you couldn’t turn around after. He was staring right at you, oceanic eyes sundering you to the floor; wave after wave held you from swimming away. Whatever it was in there, it looked akin to anger, you decided. “You’ve never had to write me anything.”
“For you to choose me. It was never a choice, I’ve always had to when it comes to you.” He let out something between a scoff and a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. From above, he was angelic, as pretty as any melody he could produce. “You are in every piece I play and every song I summon. Ask something of me.”
And you were too much, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. As wide as your eyes were, he still couldn’t tell what you were thinking. As fleeting and enigmatic as you’d always been.
Wordlessly, you stood up with your back to him. He thought you might leave; you didn’t want him to see the grin you couldn’t fight. If he knew how pleased you were with the situation he might take it all back.
You turned, leaning over to grasp his shoulders firmly and look him in the eye. You’d known those eyes your whole life and they never looked as uncertain as they did now. You liked him arrogant, but you loved him enamored.
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i’m posting a tim fic in a week or so (HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE!) and i wanna do one after wheres hes a witch hunter and ur a witch idk are we into that or nah
OMG LAW SCHOOL YOU ABSOLUTE ACADEMIC WEAPON GODDESS!!! How is it going?
I have to get approval to even REGISTER for any grad courses and it takes a week :( and one of the classes I’m taking has two seats left (think I’ll manage to get a seat? lol) but YES WE GOT THIS
AND YAYY FIC FIC FIC I’m ready. I am seated. I would quote that one meme but I can’t remember it so just imagine I did quote it
-🥭
it’s def going… its a lot of work for sure! the professors berate you and the reading is extensive 💔 we don’t even get to pick our classes they pick for u, but it’s gonna be worth it when i’m out!!!
that sounds so stressful bye— a WEEK that cannot be the most efficient way to do things 😞 hoping things go well for you! you are gonna slay this academic year ik it
i’m posting a tim fic in a week or so (HOLD ME ACCOUNTABLE!) and i wanna do one after wheres hes a witch hunter and ur a witch idk are we into that or nah
Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me // Tim Drake x GN!Reader
happy belated valentines day everyone! i have been sick out of my mind and going only a little bit crazy. i offer you: tim running after a train. HAPPY ENDING. things start looking rough BUT TRUST ME. this is for my emotional pookies that can’t communicate to save their lives. i yapped too much on this one.
—
It'd been awhile since your last conversation, but you remember very clearly how flat it felt. Someone didn't reply to something else and it was never brought up again, any of it. Too bitter to chew on stale bread anymore, the two of you weren't ever so hungry. That was how things moved, you supposed
You thought of him often, especially during wind gusts. The arid weather he hated because his hands would be dry enough to crack, and you didn't know if there was anyone slipping a hand cream into his pocket for the day. Burning and brittle, his hands in biting weather, you could only hope he wasn't hurt and someone cared enough to know.
There probably was someone, he was always good enough to not be alone. And you were always so sure of your future together, you let things sit until they eroded.
It wasn’t so one sided. He’d think of you if weather was vibrant, enough to carry the scent of blue skies on a slow breeze. Temperate days, for you, meant a desire to touch the crisp air and to read your next personality into existence on your open porch. Days he knew very well, because you would always asked for a recommendation; and if he was fortunate, you would even invite him to join you on the occasion.
It was impossible to guess how you picked books now, or if you still read at all. Maybe time got the better of you these days. And it was a shame, because he had a list he kept updating on his phone for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.
You’d met in the dingy basement of your high school. Two losers in the chess club, violently playing pawn for pawn in a way that invested you more than it should have. He was such a talker you could hardly focus on the pieces.
“Did you know dolphins have no hair? Even though they’re mammals,” he started. He wasn’t even looking at the board, and it was his turn.
If it wasn’t on his time you might’ve asked what that had to do with anything, but the more he talked the more time you had to plot and anyways he sounded nice, sweet in subdued way like iced tea. “Maybe they have like micro hairs, all mammals have hair.”
Tim shook his head, “nope, they’re slick and bald all the way through.”
“I don’t think you’re right, someone would’ve mentioned it. They’re not like platypi.”
“Well you don’t have to believe me.” He made his move, pushing his queen forward on the board. “But I did just beat you.”
It took you a second to process it, but he was right. He won after yapping at you the whole game, like a convoluted psychological strategy. One you were certain you wouldn’t fall for again.
So you asked for his number and a rematch, that he gracefully accepted. When you got distracted again, he threw the game to let you win and you knew from then on you’d never stand a chance against him. It was a sinking burning kind of feeling, a deep admiration with an undertone of never being equals. And you couldn’t tell if it was because he was really better than you or if you were just so deeply charmed it rendered you senseless. But you were certain you really liked that boy.
The more you got to know him, the more ensnared you became. In some sense it felt preordained, how well you got along, enough to kick up delusion to cloud your judgement. You liked to read and he liked to talk about it, telling you his conspiracy theories on intention and metaphor and author choices in between classes. He added every song you sent him to his playlist and he listened enough to learn some on piano for you. Tim’s favorite movie was your favorite movie. Chess was your burden, but in every game he fell short you excelled, like complimentary opposites.
It couldn’t have been one sided. He matched every text you sent, at least enough to have your name pop up in his suggested for as long as you’d known him. If he was out and about he’d tell you, and if he was burdened he’d complain to you. Tim had a way of talking to you that was different than everyone else around him, softer in a sense like you were something to be cradled, even if you were being difficult. And you being yourself could never discern if it was out of pity for him knowing you liked him, or unabashed care because he didn’t.
“I would never watch that again.” You’d dragged him to see Little Women, only because you’d never seen it and he said it was good. But you emerged puffy eyed and emptier inside than when you came.
He laughed at you, pulling out another tissue from his pocket to shove in your direction. “I thought it was really sweet, you didn’t like it?”
“It’s not sweet, it’s devastating. Jo’s okay in the end, but I don’t think I’d be.” You didn’t say much more than that for fear that you’d start crying again.
“You remind me of Amy,” he offered. You scoffed, punching his arm and scooting away on the bench you occupied.
“You’re telling me I’m annoying and dramatic and I have bangs shaped like a barcode?”
“No,” you could hear the smile in his voice like he was teasing you or it was really amusing, “I think you’re passionate, and in touch with your feelings, and pretty. She’s a good character because she’s emotional, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“…I didn’t see all that in the movie.”
“Then maybe we need to watch it again.”
“Just be quiet for now, I need to process everything,” you muttered, dropping your head to his shoulder.
He scoffed, “you’re very brave telling me to shut up.”
“I’m only brave because I know you’ll comply.”
Your companionship was good because it was easy. But it was the same ease that instilled a fear in you, if you were too boisterous or if you misinterpreted things it might ruin the ease you had. Things were comfortable as they were. You could stand everything else, as long as he was happy with you then it was fine.
Cautious but emboldened, you had a habit of testing the waters at first. Starting with the benign, telling him he was lovely or that you liked his haircut to see if he’d react. He was receptive, but you couldn’t tell if he was just friendly. Then came the matter of what he liked about a person, and that was just as vague. Not that you were any better, giving the same broad answers to keep from revealing your hand.
The mistakes probably started rolling when you would seek the underhanded. You never had the courage to say anything, so it was all you knew to do. Provoke him, see what he’d say, and form a conclusion. The tipping point was in spring, after all the heat died down from finals.
“That guy in my calculus classed asked me out the other day.” It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to share tidbits or exchange advice. Really, you were hoping for a reaction of some kind. Something that indicated disgust or at least discomfort at the thought you might consider it.
But he didn’t flinch, serene as ever he tilted his head and hummed. “What did you say?”
You had to be careful not to stare. Whoever said eyes were the window to the soul was a liar. You never learned anything about Tim looking in his, only that you felt like you could drown. Gleaming and calculative blue, he never let anything slip. But he was watching you too, gauging your reaction in his own way.
You shrugged. “I didn’t respond, I haven’t opened the text yet. I hardly know him. Only that he isn’t very good at calculus.”
Inconclusive. That must’ve meant you were at least considering it, and if that was the case, Tim concluded that he knew better. You would’ve been forthright if you liked him, enough to reject some idiot from your calculus class right away. Tim never stood a chance, he decided. “You should say yes if you want to. You’ll never know unless you go. Everyone’s bad at something.”
And then you knew better. He never resigned, even when he was losing, because he believed it eliminated all other possibility. If he cared for you at all, he wouldn’t have encouraged you.
Knowing better is a curse the burdened suffer with. Formed between the leeway of experience and intuition, with a hint of arrogance, the afflicted are slow to find ever if they are wrong.
Knowing better made communication between the two of you sparser over the years. At first you hung out less, and then you spoke less. When college started, you went to different schools and even texts got sparser, until they stopped. You knew better than to bother a busy boy, he was gentle and lovely and the world would caress him without what little you had to offer. He knew better than to speak without being spoken to, you were decisive and assured and would’ve said something if you wanted something.
It'd be better to say anything happened at all, a fight that led the two of you to ruin. But it’s the benign that scars, left to be prodded at instead of ripped off from the source. It would always be benign with Tim, a conceder at his core.
But he thought of you always, especially on windy days when his hands were dry enough to crack. You never told him where you got your hand cream and he never found one that smelled quite the same, mild and sweet like kisses from droplets of rain.
And you missed him so dearly at the bookstore. No amount of reviews on Goodreads compared to his commentary. You hadn’t read anything so soul seeking since his last recommendation, and it was getting discouraging to keep searching.
You’d gotten a job offer in a different city. It was far enough to make a commute unrealistic, practically across the country from Gotham. You would take it, because it’d be stupid not to, and you had nothing left here. It’d be stupid to stay over the leftover feelings you had for a boy that hardly liked you.
However, you’d feel dreadful leaving anyway. Especially without saying anything. You wanted him to know even if he didn’t care to know, and you wanted a last book for the road. One you’d never read, or only pick up if you were very desperate. So you swallowed your inhibitions and asked to meet, just once before you moved; and he agreed.
“So you reached out just because you’re leaving.” You picked the bookstore you met at, he picked the cafe after the trip. To your surprise he still remembered your order. Tim’s had changed, shifting from a cute americano in his early college days to a straight and narrow cold brew.
When you asked him what you should look into next he dragged you straight to the back of the store where they kept the obscurities, thumbing through the french philosophers to find something palpable— and that was the end of that.
“Well when you put it like that, it sounds terrible!” You didn’t know how he managed to sip it with a smile on his face, like it wasn’t bitter and intolerable. But he always had a mild temperament, swallowing tar like it was honey.
“You know what I mean, but congrats! Where are you going?”
“Star City.” Something flickered across his face, but you knew better than to think too hard on it and you didn’t want to. Honestly the whole day had been at least a little painful, because it felt like nothing had happened. Things were just as comfortable and natural as you’d left them, and after this you really would leave them.
“Better crime rate than Gotham,” he offered.
“That’s not hard to do,” you shrugged.
“When do you leave?”
“In two hours actually, I’m going by train.”
Tim’s mouth pressed into an ‘o,’ setting his cup down as if taken aback, before settling back into his easygoing demeanor. “Oh you’re killing me, that’s all I get?”
You laughed, both because it was a little ridiculous and because he was clutching his pearls. “Yeah, it’s not like you really reached out or anything.”
He gave you a nod, pressing his lips together. “Right.”
The short silence that settled after felt jarringly long, and it brought you back to the present. Things weren’t like they were, you’d just forgotten for a moment.
“Well it was—“
“Do you think—“ He started the same time you did, pausing in tandem to laugh it off.
“Sorry, you go ahead,” you offered.
“No, it’s okay, never mind.”
You squinted at him, it was a question you wanted to hear, if only to know what he was thinking. Although you didn’t want to prod either, never one to force his hand. “Okay.”
“Can I see you off at the station?”
“That’d be cool.”
The trip to the train station was faster than you’d anticipated. You weren’t taking much with you, just a suitcase and travel bag that he helped lug up and into your train compartment. Standing by the platform now, it was just about time for you to board before it left.
“You have everything with you?”
“Yup,” you nodded, “thank you carrying my suitcase for me.” Not that you asked, he offered.
“Always,” he smiled, he was looking at you a little longer than he should’ve. Even if you were trying to be oblivious, you couldn’t ignore his gaze. Still, it wasn’t for you to acknowledge or think on. “I guess this is bye then, for a little while.”
Your heart was beating so loudly, it shook your very core. It could’ve been from anything; nerves moving so far, regretting things last minute, fear of leaving for good, being close enough to touch him as you were about to embark far enough to forget.
Shoving the thoughts aside and the sinking feeling in your stomach, you threw your arms around him just to remember his form and how warm he felt against the cold of the winter air. Even if it was better to forget, you didn’t want to, holding tightly for a few breaths before burying your head in his scarf and muttering a small, “thank you for everything. Goodbye.”
Before he had a chance to respond, you let go, briskly making your way to your train car. Although, you weren’t convinced he would’ve said anything, just standing there staring like you said something very shocking. Standing at the doorway, you smiled and waved, hoping the last he’d see of you looked pretty.
To your surprise, he started approaching the train when the doors started shutting. “Wait! I have something to ask you!”
“What?” The doors clanged shut, as you made your way to the nearest window. When he made eye contact with you, he opened his mouth to speak but his words were muffled by the plexiglass.
“I can’t hear you!” you yelled.
Pressing his hands to glass, eyes wide and pleading, he yelled back. “Do you think we would’ve ever worked out?”
“What?” Your heart dropped as the train started to roll forward, making that sick feeling bubble up again. You made your way to the back of the train car, looking for him through the windows as you tried to keep your balance on the shaky floor.
“Would we have worked? Did you like me at all?” Both of you were yelling at the tops of your lungs, turning heads you couldn’t be bothered to perceive.
“Where is this coming from?” If you were in the right state of mind, you’d be mad, or at least annoyed. All these years and a few hours, his timing couldn’t have been worse.
Pressing hard against the back door of the car, you pushed it open to stand on the balcony. He was running after you, somehow keeping up despite the train slowly picking up its pace.
“I liked you! I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve known you,” he screamed between breaths, “and I had to let you know before you go!”
In the distance, someone was yelling at him to get off the tracks as if he’d hear it. Tim nearly tripped on a fence in his way, but he cleared it and recovered in a way that left you concerned and impressed.
You wanted to cry or laugh or throw up, all at once. You didn’t have time to think through any of it, and it was frustrating that he’d never said anything, but it was relieving to know anyway. Gripping the railing to keep steady, you screamed back as loudly as you could, to be heard and to bite back tears. “Your timing is terrible!”
“I know, and my legs hurt and I’m kind of winded, but I needed you to know!” He was sprinting now, loosening the scarf around his neck.
“What did you like about me!”
Despite claiming to be winded, he had enough energy to give you an incredulous look. “You’re on a train!”
“Answer!” you barked. Taking his scarf off, he threw an end in your direction that you managed to catch, holding on as he continued running gripping the other end.
“You are temperamental and irrational and emotional.” All the things you hated about yourself. You lifted the end you were holding, threatening to let go, making Tim shake his head. “And kind, and genuine, and it makes you beautiful! Everything about you aligns to make you the perfect person and I will never meet anyone like you again!”
He let go of the scarf, you were moving faster than he could run now and you knew it. There wasn’t time to think it over or stand stunned, as he got farther away by the inch, the foot, the meter; eyes hopeless and pleading. But when it came to Tim, the answer was very clear. Even if you took the time, you would always choose him in every outcome.
Clutching the fabric to your chest, you screamed. “Will you pick me up at the next stop!”
“I will!” It wasn’t very loud, eaten up by the wind and the engine and the growing distance, but it was no less clear to you; ringing in your ears. Watching as he slowed to a stop, hands on his knees to heave, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face or the tears running down your cheeks.
reposting bc i got depressed and remembered i wrote this and it was my real life btw lmao except it was so much worse in an insidiously intimate way and he did not run after me when i got on a train to move away he just became a stranger and there is nothing left in my hands now. you should know better than to carry water in your hands, i should know that!
hey queen it’s been forever 😭 hope you’re doing good! just wanted to let you know that I’ve become an academic weapon and am now doing a master’s AND bachelor’s degree simultaneously (I think Tim would be very proud) and it is the best and worst decision I’ve ever made (how do people do this) but anyways thought I’d share sorry if it’s super unrelated to everything else lol
-🥭
HEY BAE I AM ALIVE AND WELL AND WORKING ON A FIC!!! CONGRATSSS OMG okay academic weapon!!! how is it? i’m sure its a lot of work but these things pan out long run 🙂↕️🙂↕️ i’m working on my JD (whoo hoo law school.. :/) so i’m in a very similar boat but WE GOT THIS
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i hate logging onto league because every game i play is fine until i press tab and see the handless shit eating apes with cordyceps that are my teammates, and then i press enter and see them typing like it’ll save them. nothing will save you now.
i’ve been on the weightloss grind (makes me crazy and inhuman). hit the goal physique enough to not be so crazy, i’m gonna get back to writing for u lovelies
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