#jaytim week

It’s jaytim week my duuudeees🫪

This is timjay btw

Day 4 - Free (bunny) day~

If Jason had shown up unannounced on a stakeout a year and a half ago, Tim would have greeted him with a hostile, "What do you want, Hood?"

Now he gets a, "Nice night, huh?" wry and sort of amused.

Tim's gaze never moves from the dark water of the harbor.

If this was anywhere but Gotham, it would in fact be a nice night. The moon's reflecting on the water; in the distance, the yacht of some fucker with more money than sense casts flickering yellow lights that are bright amid the gloom.

It is Gotham, though, so the whole thing's ruined by the fact that the inhabitants of three squad cars are fishing a body out of the water and the whole place stinks like industrial chemicals.

"Nowhere else makes em quite like Gotham does."

For a while, there's just that. They watch the cops do their thing; turns out it's two corpses in the water instead of one, still looped together with a length of chain, because fuck this city.

"This the wrap-up on that triple homicide?" Jason says, at length.

"Mm," Tim agrees. "Finally got him behind bars." He turns at last, angling his head toward Jason. "You need something?"

It's dark out, but the light-amplification lenses in Jason's helmet pick up the way Tim shifts toward him, just the barest amount.

"Just visiting," says Jason. And then, before he can chicken out again, like he has been for almost six goddamn months now, he says, "No, fuck it, you know what? I do."

Beside him, Tim is still and watchful. "Case work?"

"No," says Jason. "Gimme your hand."

Tim doesn't, at least not at first. He sits there staring, head slightly cocked. At last he offers his hand out, and Jason sets to divesting it of the glove.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" says Tim, after he pulls it free.

Underneath the thick black fabric, there are feathers that spill across the pale skin of his hand: thin, delicate lines, a spray of them that looks almost like a tattoo.

Jason knows better. He has a matching mark that's been on him since he was two years old: a soulmate mark, half of someone else's design. He's known who had the matched set for five years now.

It's taken him that long to get his head out of his ass and do something about it.

He doesn't bother with much fanfare. He just sets to taking his own glove off, brusque and straightforward. He pulls the fingers off one after the next and then hauls the whole thing free.

Tim's staring with eyes that have gone wide and startled.

He seems frozen there in the almost-pretty Gotham night, under the light of the moon, so Jason moves for him, slotting their hands together and lacing the fingers into place so that the designs match up finally, palm to palm and feather to feather.

Tim's still just gaping. Jason's kind of proud, actually. It takes a lot to stun Red Robin speechless.

Then Tim seems to recover, all at once; he thwaps his hand against Jason's bicep, hard. "You asshole. How long have you known?"

"Since I came back," says Jason. "Wasn't exactly feeling lovey-dovey at the time, though, you know?"

"So you waited fives years?" Tim demands.

"We've been busy," says Jason, and the low light vision in his helmet picks up the way the lenses in Tim's domino narrow in response.

"Take off your helmet," Tim demands, mouth set and uncompromising. He's reaching out to undo the latches without waiting for Jason to comply, though, nimble fingers busy at work disarming the traps.

Then Tim's lifting it free, leaving nothing behind but the domino beneath.

"You're making this up to me," he declares, firm and uncompromising.

And his other hand, the one that isn't currently holding tight to Jason's still, reaches up to take hold of the collar of his jacket and haul him in for a kiss.

Purple

Royalty, Luxury, and Wealth: Historically, purple dye was expensive and rare, making purple clothing a symbol of royalty and wealth

First meeting

@jaytimweek

Summary

“Damn, Birdy, you live like this?”

Tim let out a quite sob before pausing in confusion and turning. “Jay?”

The man in question gave a sympathetic smile. “Hey, Birdy.”

“What are you doing here?”

Jason shrugged and looked away from him. Put his hands in his pockets and said, “You weren’t answering my texts?”

Tim furrowed his brow before pulling out his phone, pressing the power button and, “Oh, shit. My phone’s dead.”

Jason huffed something that was almost a laugh. “Figured. You’re usually pretty quick to respond.”

Tim nodded and wiped his eyes, “So, uh, what did you text me about?”

Jason frowned, looking a lot like he wanted to ask Tim why he was crying and was, for whatever reason, resisting the urge. “You got benched?”

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