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Kon’s head lies pressed against Tim’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat bringing Kon some semblance of comfort. And okay, maybe it’s not as steady of a heartbeat as someone who doesn’t drink 10 Zesti Cola’s a day, but it was still something to ground him from his racing thoughts. All he needed was something.
ba-dump. ba-dump.
Tim’s chest rises and falls slowly. He was struggling to stay awake and struggling to keep any of his attention on Kon. Kon was okay with just laying in Tim’s arms, he didn’t want all the attention on him. He could handle this himself.
ba-dump. ba-dump.
Kon feels the other’s hands card through his hair, and he can’t help but tilt his head into his touch. It was nice. It was comforting. It wasn’t enough. He had to keep listening to his heart, had to keep feeling the rise and fall of his chest… He’s alive. He knows this. He just freaked himself out, is all.
ba-dump. ba-dump.
He tries to push back memories, memories of a girl woman whose voice he could barely remember; whose face on her deathbed was all he could picture. He feels ill.
He wishes he could remember more. He wishes he could hear her voice again, see her face again. He wishes all he had wasn’t just the vague buzz of conversations they had of growing old together. He wishes he didn’t remember any of their many arguments. All the memories that stayed intact only made him feel more and more sick.
Sure, he could remind himself of her voice, of her face and body, so full of life… There were old interviews, old newscasts, all taped. There was so much documentation of her— he’s lucky.
…Even so, why can’t he get himself to look at those tapes?
ba-dump. ba-dump.
He feels his own heart beat harder, feels his stomach churn. He tells himself he’s feeling all of this because of the nightmare; the harsh reminder of her death, how it felt and looked and smelled—
And now he’s here with Tim in the middle of the night, laying on his chest trying to reassure himself that Tim’s not going anywhere. So many of his relationships have ended in less than ideal ways; attempted murder-suicide, death, dying himself, Batman… Okay, maybe he’s trying to keep himself from spiralling too much with the serious stuff, but sue him!
Point is, he’s… scared. He’s scared of the possibility of what could happen, of his relationship with Tim ending horribly. The thought that Tim could die is more than enough to freak him out, and then he starts wondering if this is how Tim feels about Kon now.
He can’t blame him, Kon did die and he had to live with that for a year. It does make Kon’s stomach twist with familiar guilt; he can’t even lie and say he wanted to come back. It makes him feel like a hypocrite that he would do anything to prevent Tim’s death while Kon never wanted to come back in the first place.
ba-dump. ba-dump.
He tries not to think about it. He tries to focus in on Tim’s heartbeat, the feeling of his chest rising and falling, the sound of his soft breathing, the fingers in his hair… Signs of life.
Kon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and Tim stirs lightly in response.
“Mh, Kon?” The tiredness soaks into Tim’s voice, his words rasping lightly. It was endearing, Kon thinks. He knew that if he lifted his head to peak, he would see the other struggling to even keep his eyes open. Kon wants to giggle at just the thought of it.
“You okay?” Tim presses on, and Kon starts to realize how ‘lucky’ he was that Tim was pretty much half asleep this whole time. If he was at his full brainpower, he’d already have been picking Kon’s walls apart. Though, now that Tim seems to be waking up, that luck seems to be running out.