âThe sun shines in the bedroom/When we play/The raining always starts/When you go awayâ
Roy eased the door to Lian's room shut, the soft click barely audible over the thrum of his heartbeat. He lingered for a moment, hand still on the doorknob, his eyes scanning the grain of the wood as if he could see through it. She was fine. She was safe. He knew that. Heâd tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and even double-checked the stuffed bunny she clung to for any frayed stitching.
The apartment was a fortressâBatman-grade security, outfitted with contingencies crafted by everyone from Tim Drake to Oliver Queen. Jason had added his own deadly traps and redundancies, ensuring not even a ghost could get in uninvited. Lian was protected. She was home. Safe. Yet Roy's chest felt like it was caving in under a weight that he couldnât explain, not entirely.
His knees buckled slightly as he stepped away from the door. He caught himself against the wall, his palm pressing hard into the cold plaster as his breath came shallow and ragged. It wasnât just the shooting earlier today. It wasnât just seeing a gunman walking into Lianâs school like a specter of every parentâs worst nightmare. It was how close sheâd been to danger, how quickly it all couldâve gone wrong.
He was too familiar with school shootings, having experienced them and stopped them many times over the years. But this, knowing his baby girl was so close toâ
It was the familiar itch beneath his skin, the gnawing whisper in the back of his mind. One hit. Just one. One to quiet the storm, to push everything down and make it bearable. His nails bit into his palm as he staggered to the couch, collapsing onto it with a weight he couldnât shake.
Heroin made everything better, just for a while, but he knew heâd regret it. That didnât stop the craving.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and Jasonâs heavy boots thudded softly against the hardwood floor. His lover carried two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, the scent of cinnamon and dark chocolate wafting into the room. Jason paused, immediately clocking the way Roy sat slumped forward, his hands trembling slightly as they fidgeted with a loose thread on the couch cushion.
âHey,â Jason said softly, setting the mugs down on the coffee table. He moved with an ease that belied the tension in his shoulders, slipping a fleece blanket off the armrest and wrapping it gently around Roy's shoulders. The sensation of warmth and Jasonâs solid presence made Roy's throat tighten. He didnât deserve thisâthis care, this loveâbut Jason never gave him the chance to argue otherwise.
Roy leaned back instinctively, letting Jasonâs arms encircle him. The warmth of the blanket and Jasonâs familiar scentâgunpowder, leather, and something faintly woodsyâwashed over him like a balm. He turned his face up, and Jason met him halfway in a soft kiss that lingered for just a moment before morphing into a tender press of their foreheads.
Jason pulled back just enough to sit beside him on the couch, taking Royâs hand and rubbing soothing circles into the back of it. He didnât push, didnât press for words, but Roy could feel Jason waiting, his patience infinite and steady.
âFuck, Iâ Iâm feeling like shooting up,â Roy murmured, the words a low confession that barely broke the silence. His free hand went to his pocket, his fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of where a syringe mightâve been, if he hadnât already emptied his stash of heroin years ago. He clenched his fist, trying to banish the phantom weight of the addiction heâd carried for so long.
He could still see faint lines where track marks used to be. Some small, scary part of him wanted to see those scarring his arms again.
Jasonâs grip on his other hand tightened, grounding him. âOkay,â Jason said simply, his voice calm, steady, like a lifeline thrown into dark waters. âTalk to me.â
Roy exhaled shakily, his gaze darting to the coffee table, then back to Jason. âItâs just... today. Seeing that guy walk into Lianâs school, knowing what couldâve happened if weâd been even a second slower.â His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. âI keep thinking, what if it happens again? What if I canât save her next time? What ifââ
âHey,â Jason interrupted softly, scooting closer until their thighs were pressed together. âSheâs safe. You made sure of that. We made sure of that.â
Roy nodded, but the reassurance didnât reach the knot in his chest. His fingers trembled again, and Jason caught the movement, holding Roy's hand tightly and pressing it against his own chest. Roy could feel the steady thump of Jasonâs heartbeat beneath his palm, anchoring him.
âYouâre not alone in this,â Jason said firmly. âIâve got you. Whatever youâre feeling, whatever youâre thinking, Iâm here.â
The dam broke then, a flood of tears spilling down Royâs cheeks as he let himself fall into Jasonâs arms. Jason held him close, one hand threading through Royâs hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on his back. He murmured soft, nonsensical thingsâcomforting sounds that didnât need to be wordsâuntil Royâs sobs began to subside.
When Roy finally pulled back, his face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed, but the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly. Jason cupped his cheek, wiping away the last stray tear with his thumb.
âDo you want to stay out here tonight?â Jason asked after a moment. âWe can make it a living room campout. Or,â he added with a small, mischievous grin, âwe could ask Lian if she wants her Papa and Daddy to have a sleepover in her room.â
Roy huffed a laugh, the sound watery but genuine. âSheâd never let us leave if we did that.â
âTrue,â Jason admitted, leaning back against the couch. âBut if itâd make you feel better, we can stay close. Whatever you need, Roy.â
Roy considered the offer for a moment before shaking his head. âNo. I donât want her to see me like this. She shouldnât have to worry about me.â
âSheâs a tough kid,â Jason said, âbut I get it.â He reached for the mugs of hot chocolate heâd placed aside, and handed one to Roy, the warmth seeping through the ceramic into Royâs hands. âHow about we stay out here, then? Just us. Iâll put on some music, and weâll hang out. No pressure. No expectations.â
Roy nodded, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. The rich, slightly bitter taste was comforting in its own way, grounding him further. Jason got up briefly to grab his phone, queuing up a playlist of NirvanaâRoyâs favoriteâand setting it to play at a low volume.
As the familiar chords of Son of a Gun filled the room, Jason returned to the couch, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed. âYou know,â he said after a moment, his tone light, âThis hot chocolate. It's Alfredâs recipe, which was apparently his grandma's recipe. Top secret. That's why Lian always tells me to make her cocoa, not you.â
Roy snorted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. âOh, please. Lain loves my ready mix hot chocolate just as well. She just asks you to do it âcause it makes you happy.â
Jason gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest dramatically. âYou did not just compare Alfred's grandma's hot chocolate to powder mixes.â
Roy chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. The heaviness in his chest hadnât disappeared entirelyâhe still felt like he craved drugs to soothe the painâbut it felt more manageable now, like something he could carry with Jason by his side.
They sat like that for a while, trading quiet jokes and sipping their hot chocolate as the music played on. Eventually, Roy rested his head on Jasonâs shoulder, letting the rhythm of the songs and the steady warmth of Jasonâs presence lull him into a sense of peace.
It wasnât perfect. It wasnât a cure. But it was enough. For now, it was enough.
As long as Jason was there, Roy could get through anything. He knew that. He loved that.