He's hungry. No, that's not the word. He's touch-starved. He knows this. His eyes widen at her exclamation and a blink later he's stopped everything to link their hands. Hers is still only halfway through breaking that barrier of personal space, and his own hand is totally from that injured arm which should absolutely have stayed in a cast for longer but...
Look, the boy's an opportunist and he'd have never survived as long as he somehow has if he never played dirty. A connection, light but firm. Easy to slip, but wishing it isn't.
His hands aren't nearly as rough as they ought to be. But cold- they're cold. He knows gloves are important but.
"My older brother would help me in the same way," he says, because that's more important. "I really can't tell you how many hours we would spend on the phone. It was hard to not feel like a bother. He always wanted to help, though. There's a... a part of us that wants to give more than we ever really want to receive."
His life is now lived through words in past tense.
Kate has big, sad eyes.
He's not going to push.
Instead, he does the cowardly thing. He kind of grips her hand, ever so gently, and gives their hands the tiniest sway upwards. Like he would with Stephanie, when they'd be talking about nothing and everything and they were young and in love.
He pulls back.
Because he's chicken-shit for the important things, and it's about time his mind gets flooded with gray-black static. He does, stubbornly, shove his hands now into the first available pocket.
He swears he's going to screw up, say all the wrong things, and he pins a very devil-may-care look on this girl. He laughs, raspy and shortlived and boyish and disbelieving. "Hey. Hey, no. Your Lieutenant's a teddy bear. Don't worry about me, worry about him. You're good for each other. But, better yet..."
He really needs to get away. It's an animal urge to run, to hide. He can't say anything else. Can't say that Little is someone to be watched but not avoided, not yet. Can't say that he only even remembered Christmas existed at all because of the nightmares that cycle around his head in this time of year about a mother's slit throat. Can't say about the dark room he made out of his parents' office because then the question becomes, well what did you like taking pictures of.
And, see, Tim just can't do that.
"Try not to worry too much, Kate. Just for the day. Merry Christmas."
Tim Drake Shut Up Challenge 2024 cw: vague-ish SI, death mention
Look, the boy's an opportunist and he'd have never survived as long as he somehow has if he never played dirty. A connection, light but firm. Easy to slip, but wishing it isn't.
His hands aren't nearly as rough as they ought to be. But cold- they're cold. He knows gloves are important but.
"My older brother would help me in the same way," he says, because that's more important. "I really can't tell you how many hours we would spend on the phone. It was hard to not feel like a bother. He always wanted to help, though. There's a... a part of us that wants to give more than we ever really want to receive."
His life is now lived through words in past tense.
Kate has big, sad eyes.
He's not going to push.
Instead, he does the cowardly thing. He kind of grips her hand, ever so gently, and gives their hands the tiniest sway upwards. Like he would with Stephanie, when they'd be talking about nothing and everything and they were young and in love.
He pulls back.
Because he's chicken-shit for the important things, and it's about time his mind gets flooded with gray-black static. He does, stubbornly, shove his hands now into the first available pocket.
He swears he's going to screw up, say all the wrong things, and he pins a very devil-may-care look on this girl. He laughs, raspy and shortlived and boyish and disbelieving. "Hey. Hey, no. Your Lieutenant's a teddy bear. Don't worry about me, worry about him. You're good for each other. But, better yet..."
He really needs to get away. It's an animal urge to run, to hide. He can't say anything else. Can't say that Little is someone to be watched but not avoided, not yet. Can't say that he only even remembered Christmas existed at all because of the nightmares that cycle around his head in this time of year about a mother's slit throat. Can't say about the dark room he made out of his parents' office because then the question becomes, well what did you like taking pictures of.
And, see, Tim just can't do that.
"Try not to worry too much, Kate. Just for the day. Merry Christmas."