It's been too long since Kon's seen his best friend. So, while today seems like a kind of stupid, morbid reason to hang out, it's still a reason to see Tim. And he'll take it.

Tim's sitting at the kitchen counter when he enters the Tower, scrolling absently on his phone. He's wearing his civvies, a button-down with jeans and sneakers, a red sweater folded on the bench beside him. He looks like he's been here awhile. And he's facing away from the doorway, which is practically permission. 

Kon can be really quiet when he needs to be. Which is why he gets as close to Tim's back as be can, before–

"Didn't keep you waiting, did I?" Kon says innocently.

And Tim doesn't jump, or even turn around, which sucks. "Using your TTK to try to sneak up on me counts as cheating, just so you know."

"It should've worked," he says, mournfully, setting his feet back on the ground. And then, grinning, "Hey, Tim."

At that, Tim swivels on the stool, turning to face him. He's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It mostly doesn't, these days. "Hey, Conner."

Kon floats and air-wiggles until he's sitting on the stool beside Tim, but it doesn't get him a laugh, just a raised eyebrow. So he says, "Did you make me a cake?"

"Pardon me?"

"Dude, it's my deathiversary. As if I haven't earned a cake!"

Tim's gaze is cutting. "You are crass and tactless and also the worst," Tim informs him.

"Aww, don't say stuff you don't mean, Tim."

Tim doesn't seem to hear him, just sighs and picks up his sweater. Which was apparently hiding a white square box, which Tim thrusts at him wordlessly.

"Ohmigod, did you actually make me a cake, holy shit, I was just kidding–"

And Tim, bless his heart, actually flushes. Legendary Terror of the Night Kon's ass. He says, "It won't be as good as anything Ma or Alfred make, and it's a bit messy–"

"It's beautiful," Kon says reverently, sincerely, staring down at the faintly lopsided, passionfruit-iced lump. "I love it." He sets it back on the counter, still grinning, and says, "Man, it's been ages–" 

and he drags Tim in to kiss his cheek, with a loud, exaggerated smoooooch noise. But Tim does that weird thing where he sort of freezes up and his eyes go kind of panicked and his fingers do that little twitch. In short, Tim freaks out. Which is dumb.

"What the hell?" Kon demands, but it's good natured. Shaking Tim a little by the collar.

"Sorry," Tim's saying automatically, trying to relax. But he's already shrugging of Kon's hand. "I just– sorry."

"So help me Tim, if I have to condition you all over again…"

His best friend kicks him in the ankle, huffs, "Don't say youconditioned me, Kon." And, muttered, "See if I ever make you a cake again."

"No but really, when was the last time you hung out with someone that doesn't suck?" 

"I saw Dick last week," Tim offers. "I mean. Damian was there, but–"

"Someone who doesn't suck, I said, were you even listening? And you're doing that thing where you act like you aren't from Gotham."

"What 'thing'?" Tim asks. Then, with a snort, "Breathing clean air? Ooh, not committing crimes?"

"The accent thing," Kon says.

"I don't do an accent thing."

"You totally do an accent thing," he says. "You know. It's kind of like your freak outs when you aren't expecting people to touch you."

"Conner–" crossly.

"I'm just saying. We're best friends, you can totally be yourself around me. Forever, okay?"

And Kon isn't listening out for it, he isn't, but he hears that second where Tim's heart rate spikes. Sees the way his eyes immediately drop to the table. The twist of his mouth, like pain. 

And yeah. This is a tough day for Tim.

He touches his best friend's hand. "Tim, I'm okay," he says, quiet.

"Y-yeah," he says, with a shudder. Gripping Kon's briefly, before releasing it. "Yeah." He turns away from Kon then, face shadowed. Tim says, "Conner… I. Kon. I know it's, I. It was a really, shitty year. And I just. I missed you, and I'm. I'm so glad, that. That… "

"I know, Tim," he says. "It's okay, you don't have to say it. Just because you're bad at expressing your feelings doesn't mean you don't have them. I get that."

Tim glances up at him from under his too-long bangs, a grateful smile on his lips. 

And Kon says, "You'll come back to Smallville with me, right? We'll watch movies and then sleep in the barn. Bart's free in a few hours, I'm sure he'll want to come too. And you know how much Ma loves you." 

"I– have a lot to do back in Gotham–" Tim says, biting his lip. 

Kon's seriously considering dropping deathiversary again, because it's only good one day a year. But he doesn't want to wear it out just yet.

"I–"

"Dude."

"Ugh, fine," Tim rolls his eyes expansively, puts his sweater over his arm. He grins then, a little wry, and says, "Can I've a lift?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'm gonna have to come back for you, though. The cake is my first passenger."

And Tim's indignant little snort-laugh follows him out the door.