#tbath

I’m thinking about the specificity of the blocks being made and handled with care, not with malice or ill intent.

I’m thinking about Hayao Miyazaki, a bastion of beautiful 2d hand drawn animation who refuses to retire.

I’m thinking about a world where animation is so rarely made with love over profit and efficiency.

I’m thinking about how, though the old man didn’t see it, the next generation still hangs onto a piece of that beautiful, tedious thing and takes it with them because it feels important.

Happy soon-to-be three-year-anniversary for TBATH @green4allseasons 💚💚💚 - I'm just finding new excuses to make fanart for this fic and also couldn't wait until May to share.

This scene from chapter 24 (26) is probably in my top 5 (ok top 6? 7?) moments of this fic.

Somehow he always knows.

Jason walks the motorbike the final block to the house. The thing is loud, which he usually enjoys. But tonight… he doesn’t want to run the risk of waking any sleeping occupants. So instead, he quietly stashes the bike beside the garage and hoofs it to the front door, pulling out a key that had been made specifically for him. 

He loves the way the townhouse welcomes him home. How, although it belongs to someone else on paper, as soon as he steps through the door it greets him as if he's always belonged there too. 

On the crooked end table with a single glowing lamp, there's a stack of books that he recently finished reading from the library, all long overdue. And his jackets... those are all neatly hanging from the coat hanger while another's lay stale and untouched in an ever-growing heap on the floor. 

Even the fridge is marked with his presence, occupied with tupperware full of stir fry. His recipe... though it had been made by someone else in his absence. 

And technically, he could go to his room. Tim had made sure that he knew that it always belonged to him. Even from the very beginning. 

So at first Jason considers it.  The door’s wide open and waiting for him. And it’s what he usually does when he gets into town late; they’re considerate of each other’s sleep schedule like that. 

But... it’s Valentine's Day. Or it was Valentine's Day, he thinks, looking down at his watch and seeing the short hand point at the 2:00. And while Jason’s not a sap for all that capitalist bullshit, he finds himself teetering on his feet in front of his doorway, side-eyeing his bed that looks so cold and lonely in the dark.

“Fuck it,” he decides, turning on his heels and striding into the room across from his. Timmy might get a little pissy about being woken up but he’d just have to live with it for one night. It’s Valentine's Day, or was… and god dammit if Jason isn't feeling a little sentimental. Sue him.

He sounds a lot tougher in his mind, but his actions tell a different story as he slowly nudges the door open, cringing at the resulting creak of old hinges. Had it always been so loud?

Of course, Tim startles, his eyes blearily opening, the pupils constricting at the sudden light. “Jay?” he asks, “Everything okay?”

Jason feels instantly bad. Like he said, they never do this, not unless something’s wrong. So Tim’s instant concern isn’t totally baseless. Usually they give each other a day to adjust to the timezones and whatnot before inexplicably finding themselves in each other’s beds. Intertwined for however long they're both in town… which isn’t as often as either of them would like. 

“Yeah, all good, just…” Jason pauses, a little embarrassed to say the words out loud. He was really counting on Tim being asleep. And goddammit, the little smile that crawls across Tim’s face makes him want to bury his head in a hole. 

“I didn’t take you for a Valentine’s sort of guy,” Tim teases, that little sleepy smirk so fucking annoying. And yet, Jason feels himself unraveling in ways that he can’t put words to.

He swears, “...Just scoot over, will you?”

Tim lets out a small laugh but opens the covers anyway. Jason’d already showered at his new safehouse so he doesn’t feel bad as he crawls into the sheets. But he doesn’t think Tim would mind either way. 

Tim doesn’t turn around, preferring to face Jason as he lays his head back down. They could only manage to fit a twin mattress in the room so it forces them to shift close. Jason sure as hell doesn’t care as their foreheads touch on their shared pillow. 

And god, if Jason doesn’t feel like a man with his whole world in his hands. Tim’s warmth so all encompassing that slowly he feels the tension in his muscles lessen, unwinding with every breath that flutters against his cheek. Tim’s breath is still minty from brushing, giving away that he’d probably stayed up too late… again.

Sighing, Jason settles his hand on Tim’s cheek, adoring the contrasting sensations of the impossibly soft skin under Tim’s eyes and the rough stubble over his jawline. Just another indicator that he’d been working too hard. 

Ah well, it just means that Jason needs to stay longer this time. 

Jason’s fingers rest against Tim’s jawline before he grips gently, using the leverage to press their foreheads together.

“I missed you,” he breathes, holding back so much more that he wants to say because it’s late, and Tim’s tired, and he doesn’t get enough sleep these days as is. 

And really? All that Jason wants to say has been said before and can be said again once morning comes.