Bruce tilts his head up from his small paperback novel, the sappy romance kind that you’d get for a dollar at the street-corner bookstore. “Yes, Jason?”
Jason places a hand tentatively on the armrest of the couch, stretching up on his tiptoes with strain in his back even though he never needed it. He looked so small, yet so ready, with some kind of quiet determination in his fiery eyes. His deft hands start to move before they freeze suddenly, as if he was catching himself. One moves instead to brush by Bruce’s chest, right over his heart, before it stops and rests there.
“I...” the words catch in Jason’s throat. He swallows, blinks back the tears of frustration and shame already brimming. The boy shakes his head roughly, as if to snap himself back to focus, and barks out another word.
It’s a raw and emotional sound, scratchy and hollow, but it’s there, and he means it with all of his heart.
He’s shaking now, but his eyes still move to meet his father’s. A gasp before the last word flies out of his mouth.
Bruce blinks in shock for a few moments - one of the longest moments of Jason’s life. Then he drops the book he’s holding, and with a tender smile, he reaches over to pull his son into a warm hug and murmurs into his hair.