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Mentor	By : Oranis Category: DC Verse Comics > Teen Titans Views: 1409 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Mentor
- 1
Mentor
By, Oranis

A/N: Located at the end of this story
Pairing: tim/kon
Warnings: None really with this one... maybe a little sap towards the end, and obviously this is dealing with a homosexual relationship, so if that is not something you like then I say, be gone!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters: Tim Drake and Conner (Kon) Kent. I gain no profit from the smatherings found within.
Once again, many thanks to my beta, Hill4Prez08. I just work with him, not his political delusions, though he is a God among men whom I pay homage to every morning before retiring to my dungeon of a room and enjoying a brief rest in my coffin. (Note: the last comment here was added by the beta himself, not me…though he may have a point…)
E-Mail: OranisREMOVE@THISgmail.com

XXXXXX= Change of Scene
YYY= Temporal passage or minor scene change, use context clues to figure it out.

XXXXXX

Tim really didn’t understand why people thought he was good at this. If you asked him, he would have said, with complete honesty, that he believed he did little more than pretend to be a living statue, with ears, that nodded every few sentences.

He was currently sitting across from a skinny, average looking guy who was, himself, sitting in the only other chair in Tim’s dorm room, and listening to the same man go on and on about how he didn’t understand how this could be happening to him. How he couldn’t believe that after all these years he could become gay. It just made no sense to him.

Though Tim felt a strong urge to point out that he didn’t just become gay, he had always been gay and was only realizing it now, unless the guy believed that he didn’t have one date throughout the entirety of high school because he really just was that independent. Instead he nodded and asked the man to tell him more about his life and how he came to this realization.

The man explained how he started to realize that he was watching other guys more than girls and yadda, yadda. Tim had heard it all a thousand times by now. He was an LGBT Mentor here at the great University of Wisconsin at Madison. In other words he was an unofficial shrink for people having problems with their sexual identity, as well as an undergrad at the university for Chemistry. After the first couple cases the stories started to repeat themselves and Tim quickly learned that these people didn’t actually want nor need advice so much as just someone to listen to them. So, Tim listened. He listened to Carl, this guy’s name, go on about his life. Tim was very careful and precise with everything he did. While what Carl was telling him did bore him, he let nothing but absolute interest show on his face and his mind neatly organized and filed everything he said, just in case he actually did have to talk to him.

Like right now. Carl had just said that his parents weren’t going to be understanding, and he knew it was a lie.

“Come on, Carl, don’t lie to me,” Tim said with nothing but sincerity in his voice as he interrupted Carl’s speech.

Carl looked stunned for a second. “How—“

“You have three body piercings and a tattoo of a yin-yang on your left shoulder blade. At the same time, you don’t have enough piercings, tattoos, or gothic clothes to be rebelling against your parents. Only very understanding and flexible parents would allow that many body alterations to happen, which means they will be fine with the fact that you’re gay. Sure they might be shocked by it a little at first, but that will pass. So, why would you believe that?” Tim said in a very clinical manner.

Tim wasn’t entirely sure if even Carl knew why he lied, but Tim did know. It would, however, be much more important for Carl to realize it himself than for Tim to just tell him.

“I...I don’t really know. I mean now that you say that, it does make sense that they wouldn’t mind too much, but... I don’t know,” Carl said slowly, like he was trying to figure it out.

Tim’s watch started to beep shrilly, signaling the end of the session, and the start of the next meeting of Tim’s night.

Carl jumped a little at the noise. Tim didn’t. For some reason Tim had, from a very young age, developed an uncanny sense of time.

“Well,” said Tim, rising from his chair, “I’ll see you in a few days. Try and think about what we talked about, and hopefully, you’ll know the answer the next time we meet.”

“Yeah,” said Carl, also rising, “Yeah, I’ll do that... and... and thanks man, for helping me out with...” he waved his hand as if to suggest the meetings and sessions that Tim had lead him through.

“No problem,” said Tim as he walked to the door and opened it for Carl.

He felt a certain sense of commiseration for Carl. After all, he had had to come to the same realization himself and it wasn’t exactly an easy thing, having your entire lifestyle stood on its head. Tim could only hope that Carl realized it was his own fear that he needed to conquer now, and nothing else. But that was something he would have to realize on his own, without Tim’s help.

Tim watched him walk down the hall for a second before turning back into his dorm to gathering his things and head for the purple room, where people were no doubt already waiting for him to come and save their chemistry grades.

XXXXXX

“... and as you all know, the definition of molar mass is grams per mole. Since we know how many grams were consumed by the reaction and we know the number of moles which were produced, via stoichiometry, we can get molar mass. Once we know the molar mass and the empirical formula, which we derived over here to be CH2, we can find which alkene we are dealing with,” Tim said, pausing in front of the white board to run some calculations in his head. “In this case Hexene, C6H12,” he said as he wrote the answer on the board and circled it.

He turned to face the eight or so people arrayed in front of him who were trying to scribble into their notes and pay attention to what he was saying at the same time, “Everyone understand?” he asked.

Most nodded as though they understood, except one student, a very large guy in the back, who was hunched over his notebook and looking at it like he thought it might try and eat his face.

“You not understanding something?” Tim cast around his mind to come up with the guy’s name; his impeccable memory did not disappoint. “Conner?”

Conner looked up at him as though he wasn’t expecting to be noticed and said, almost instinctually, “Kon... call me Kon, and, uh, yeah. I don’t really get how you got the molar mass... I think I get everything else.”

Tim nodded and turned back to the white board. “It’s not too difficult; you just have to remember that the molar mass of a compound is always defined as...”

Tim’s mind stopped being actively engaged in what he was saying and instead started to comb through all the knowledge he had on Conner... Kent, was it? Tonight was the first night that he had shown up to this study group. Tim had, at first, written him off as a meat headed jock, what with all the girls in the hallway which he passed letting out a proverbial sigh, and more than one guy. It would have been one thing if this ‘Kon’ didn’t notice, but he did notice and took great pleasure in the noticing. Not to mention that he was a Greek and on the football team, which was no small accomplishment in a big ten school. However, the meat head theory seemed to be contradicted by his apparent actual want to understand this stuff and not just hang out. Interesting.

“So, does that clear it up for you?” asked Tim as he turned to look back at Conner, to find him staring at the white board with a surprisingly intelligent gaze.

“Yeah, I think it does,” said Conner as he finished scribbling something into his notes.

“Ok, so let’s move onto alkimers and their isomers. Does anyone remember from your lecture the difference between cis- and trans- isomers, and how those two are again different from constitutional or structural isomers?” asked Tim.

One girl started to speak, “Aren’t constitutional isomers the ones that...”

The study session continued on with mind melting normality, and the whole time Tim couldn’t stop himself from trying to analyze Conner. It wasn’t until the session was almost over that he realized he was obsessing about someone he didn’t even know. He mentally berated himself nine kinds of idiot in eight different languages.

He redoubled his sole, sole damn it, concentration on the discussion and soon was able to finish it.

As the final stroke of the marker made its final squeak across the board there was a general clunking, shuffling noise as people stuffed their crap back into their bags and creaked their bodies upright. Tim gathered his notebook and text and started for the door.

He made it halfway down the hallway before he heard a voice behind him calling.

“Hey, one sec, man!” Tim turned to only to find Conner trying vainly to cram all his stuff in into his bag and speed walk towards Tim. It wasn’t the most graceful performance Tim had ever seen as Conner had to execute a sickly lopsided pirouette to narrowly avoid trampling the girl walking next to him. Soon enough, however, he managed to be standing next to Tim, a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Uh... I was wondering if, since you got such a good handle on this chemistry and stuff, if you also knew a little calculus?” Conner said in an irritatingly relaxed voice, as though he and Tim had known each other for a while.

Tim didn’t really understand why the thought of Conner talking to him as if he knew him grated on him, but it did a little.

“Sure.” Tim said succinctly.

“Well...” Conner said as though he were expecting Tim to make the inference and offer to give him a hand. Tim just stared; his face was completely neutral.

Kon coughed a little, “Well, uh, could you... give me a hand or something? I mean, I only ask because you’re the first person to make sense of chemistry for me. So I, y’know, thought you’d be able to give me a hand.”

Tim needlessly consulted his watch to give himself a few seconds to think about it. He really didn’t have anything else to do, so he might as well. On the other hand, this familiar attitude of Conner did piss him off a little. Why was that...? Was he that afraid of someone being familiar with him?

Tim was not one for self-dilution. And besides, it would be good for him to actually spend some time with another human if for no other reason than it would probably be good for his psyche in general if it got a break from only having conversations with itself.

“Yeah, sure,” he said looking up from his watch. “You got somewhere to be?” asked Tim as he began to head back to the purple room and set up shop again, but stopped as he saw the torn look on Conner’s face.

Kon cast around, as if expecting a solution to jump out of the woodwork and kick him in the nuts. “Well... Uh...” his voice gained a slightly whiny quality to it as if he were about to begin pleading with Tim. “You see, I, uh, I haven’t eaten in a day, and I was really hoping to go grab something down on state street... and... uh, yeah...” he ended weakly.

Tim looked at him again with the same unreadable look, and thought for a second. This was also the same second that he realized that he hadn’t eaten since that morning either. What the hell.

“Fine, lets go,” said Tim, turning yet again to go drop his crap off in his dorm and get some money.

Kon looked startled. “Uh, you’re coming? Wait, so first off, it is fine that we are going to put this off for a little, and you want... uh.” Tim was staring at him again, as though it was completely obvious, and why in the nine circles of Hell did Kon not understand?

“Right,” said Kon, more than a little lamely and followed Tim to his dorm.

Soon they found themselves on the doorstep of Liz Waters on Observatory Dr. and began the trek down to University Ave.

The walk was, in most ways, unremarkable. Neither talked too much, although fault could not be placed on Kon, who tried more than once to strike up a conversation but received accurate, if monosyllabic, responses which effectively killed the conversation.

Kon could not honestly tell if that was Tim’s intention or if Tim was just that socially inept that he didn’t realize that he was completely choking off any chance for conversation. The only major headway that was gained from the whole exchange was when Kon finally, after the fifth time being called Conner, corrected Tim that his name was Kon, not Conner.

“I suppose that is written on your birth certificate as well?” asked Tim, completely deadpan.

It was actually a little unnerving for Kon that he couldn’t, really ever, tell when this guy was just being sarcastic and when he was being serious.

Deciding that that was (hopefully) a sarcastic comment, Kon said, “Of course it is. I’ll have you know that it’s a very common name where I come from.”

Tim looked at him for a second before snorting and saying, “One, where do you come from, Nebraska? Let me guess, they tried to name you Corn, but got it misspelled along the way, and two, you do, of course, realize that birth certificates are a matter of public record?”

“Hey, don’t you be going and insulting me mammy and pappy now, ya hear!” said Kon, trying and failing to imitate a Nebraskan accent.

It was not a long walk down to Park St. and from there Kon took over, leading Tim through the swarming humanity.

State St. was the main artery of Madison. It was the location of everything cool and right with the world. The best restaurants, clubs, bars, and shops were all located there. Anyone who when to the UW went to State St. on a very regular basis. Hell, more than a few of the students who went and are going to Madison do so for State St. in and of itself. It was the social hang out of any and everyone on campus. It was therefore not that surprising that Tim avoided the place like the black plague.

Sure he came down to get a bite to eat every now and again when he couldn’t take anymore cafeteria food and needed a break, but even then he never stayed longer than the absolute minimum amount of time to get his food, stuff it down in as fast a pseudo-polite manner would allow and leave.

Kon, however, loved State St. He practically lived on it. He knew just about everyone he passed and they all knew him. People waved and tried to talk to him, and he probably would have if Tim had not refused to break his gait. Kon was forced to say a quick “hi” or “What’s up?” before realizing that Tim was being absorbed into the crowd and would hurriedly rush forward to catch up.

Eventually Kon grabbed Tim’s arm and steered him into a store. It was only after both Tim and Kon were standing in front of a gigantic artificially cooled granite slab that Tim realized that Kon had lead them into a Cold Stone.

Tim was about to start grilling Kon when the man behind the counter turned to them and asked what they wanted.

Tim was again about to speak to say that he wasn’t having anything, when Kon overrode him.

“I’ll have a ‘like it’ caramel turtle, and my icy friend here will have a ‘like it’ size coffee lovers.”

Tim glared at Kon. His look transcended the mere expression, ‘if looks could kill’.

Kon looked at Tim and took a mental step back. The freaky little guy looked like he was plotting a world conquest which would ultimately result in the immanent and complete destruction of Kon. Who knew anyone, let alone this seemingly polite and reserved guy, could do that?

“Uh... I don’t have enough money for both of us...” said Kon, hoping he made the right call in ordering for Tim. He didn’t look like was going to order anything, out of spite, if nothing else. Besides, he was just about positive that this guy loved coffee. Don’t ask how he thought he knew... just a feeling. If nothing else, what good college student didn’t love coffee?

Tim blinked. He ordered for him and then expected him to pay?! He was more than half tempted to tell the guy that that wasn’t his problem, but what the hell. The people behind them were waiting and probably wouldn’t take kindly to being held up by the monetary issues of two college students.

Mentally clenching down on the impulse to mutter about overpriced, glorified ice cream he reached for his wallet.

Soon enough they found themselves sitting outside of the store on a public bench quietly eating their ice cream.

“So... how does this qualify as food?” asked Tim as he took another bite of coffee ice cream and told himself he hated it.

“Um... it has calcium?” Kon postulated absently, trying to lick a dribble of melted ice cream before it got to his hands.

“Hn,” Tim grunted.

“You do realize this means war... and you owe however much this ridiculous glob of cream and sugar cost,” said Tim matter-of-factly while taking another bite again telling himself that it tasted horrible.

“Whatever you say Mr. Fudd,” said Kon, again only partially aware of what Tim was saying.

“So, this is what you live off of then, or do you actually ingest real nutrients at any point in the day?” Tim asked, his confidence about how bad his ice cream was slowly degrading as he had another bite.

“Yeah, but I try and have some of this as often as I can. Besides, you wouldn’t have kept the offer to help me with calc open if you believed that I couldn’t work with you at that moment because I wanted ice cream.” Kon said in a very straight forward voice.

“Point,” said Tim, conceding that Kon probably had a point with that. All of a sudden the ice cream tasted much better.

“I actually haven’t eaten in a while though, so I do want some food.” said Tim

“I know a really good vendor if you are looking for some Chinese food,” said Kon as he finished his ice cream.

“Sounds good,” said Tim, finishing his ice cream and tossing the remains into the nearby trash can and standing, gathering himself for another walk.

Kon followed suit and soon was leading Tim back up State St and into Park St and into the pseudo-park area of the University Book Store.

There arrayed before the store was a small park that was sandwiched between UBS and the Memorial Library. Sure it was all concrete, but for some reason, it contained the same peace as any park. Several tall statues and a memorial podium in the center seemed to make it more than just a river of concrete... it was the strangest thing. Best of all, however, were the arrayed vendor carts, one for each food style imaginable, their carts practically laminated with the ridiculous number of licenses and permits required to have a vendor stand.

Kon pointed out the Chinese food stand and soon Tim made an order for Chicken Cashew and Kon decided not to have anything. The little woman behind the counter began bustling around. Tim couldn’t really see what she was doing as it was a very small counter, but she soon returned with a styrofoam container, supposedly filled with chicken cashew. Tim paid and soon he and Kon made their way to the raised circular platform in the center of the park.

Tim ate his meal in relative peace, Kon occasionally mentioning something about various nothings, and Tim would answer, but for the most part the two sat, sharing, almost, the silence and peace. Watching the various people weave through the crowd, and watch the crowd itself. It was almost like watching the ocean; the constant undulation and movement. When they shifted their eyes up a little from the people, they could see the capitol building, framed by the two rows of stores leading away from them. On top of the capitol rotunda stood the blindfolded lady of justice, holding the scales in her gold encrusted hand. For some reason, that image was captivating.

Soon, almost too soon it seemed, at least to Tim, he was finished eating and stood up.

“So... let’s go get that calc out of the way then,” said Tim

“What...oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” said Kon, standing and joining Tim as he began down Park St back up to Liz Waters.

“So, Calc I for you?” asked Tim.

“Yeah, apparently I need it to graduate or something,” said Kon in a mock-victimized voice.

“Right, they do that sometimes,” said Tim, completely deadpan, yet again.

Kon just let out a defeated laugh and gave Tim a little shove in the side. The guy didn’t even have decency to so much as miss a step, much less lose his balance. Instead he gracefully rode the impulse out with his feet and fell back into step with Kon as if nothing at all had happened. That was until Kon nearly fell over, clutching his side as Tim stabbed him, with surgical accuracy, in what he was sure was a kidney with his fingers; Tim’s face never changed.

“You’re a freak,” Kon gasped as he half-limped, half ran to catch up to Tim who hadn’t broken his step.

“That’s as may be,” said Tim, again with the deadpan.

Kon could only shake his head a little and gave over to the fact that he probably would never understand his new friend... if that’s what he was.

XXXXXX

After that night, Tim and Kon had become pretty close friends, though a great majority of the time that they spent together was spent with Tim helping Kon through his more sciency classes, along with math. It wasn’t that Kon was stupid. He just needed someone to go over the material with him until he was sure he understood it. The rest of their time together was mostly spent doing exactly what they had that first night.

It was almost a ritual. At least once a week the two of them would go down to Cold Stone and order the same thing that they did that first afternoon and then eat their ice cream out on the street, talking about whatever was on their minds.

It was fascinating to Tim how wrong about Kon he was from his first impression. This guy wasn’t exactly shallow, nor was he ridiculously intelligent, and that was not a euphemism, but instead was something different. Tim couldn’t help but be reminded of an almost Taoist quality to him.

Over all, Kon just seemed to be one of those genuinely good guys. He was good at whatever he did, and he was also nice. Tim, more than once, realized that he actually wanted to hate Kon for all the things that he was so good at that Tim wasn’t. He was great with other people, and more importantly, other people were great with him. The most infuriating thing of all, however, at least for Tim, was that he couldn’t hate him. He was just too good. Not in the way that a Boy Scout is good, but just in the way that a good guy was good... Tim didn’t understand it all that well either. He was kind of the guy that Tim wished he could be in a few ways.

For instance there was no way that Tim could ever ask another classmate for help with a class. He would have too much pride. He would rather opt for staying up ridiculously long hours researching until he understood the problem... a problem that probably could have been resolved in ten minutes if he just had the balls to ask someone for help.

Damn it.

What Kon got out of the encounters that made him want to come with Tim to get dinner every week, he didn’t know. Getting tutored by Tim, Tim could understand that: to get a better grade, but why spend extra time with him? It wasn’t like Tim was a great conversationalist. In fact, he knew full well that he sucked at it, more often than not completely driving away people from talking to him; either by just killing the conversation by not contributing at all, or by sarcastically torturing the other person until they fled.

Why? Why? Why?

Tim couldn’t find an answer, and he hated it. He hated it when he couldn’t find the answer. Whenever Tim got like this, this need to find the answer, an answer he always, always, found.

It didn’t take too long though, for his unrealized fears to be confirmed and an answer found.

One week, Kon just stopped calling. He had always been the one to initiate anything between them. Though Tim felt something he couldn’t quite place when this happened, it did fit the theory that Kon didn’t actually like him and was only doing stuff with him out of some kind of obligatory feeling... yeah, that was it... that was all it was.

That whole following week, things seemed... hollow, somehow. Tim even tried to go to Cold Stone and then the park outside of UBS, but he felt stupid doing it. Sitting alone on the street eating ice cream, with only his own thoughts to keep him company, not another; not Kon. He felt just as ridiculous sitting on the raised concrete slab in the park facing the capitol. Now it just felt like sitting on a slab of concrete... nothing more.

Madam Justice seemed to mock him from her perch on high.

XXXXXX

It was one in the morning and Tim was tired as death. He had just come back from two midterms not but three hours ago and he had spent the rest of the night studying for another he would have in the morning, kept awake solely by chemical enhancement (copious and gratuitous amounts of caffeine) and if Jesus himself had appeared and told Tim to stay up, Tim would have flipped him the bird and then turned on his side, eternal life after death be damned.

Yep nothing could stop him. Not now that his bed was in sight. His wonderful, glorious bed... Nothing, except maybe that noise.

That was the emergency tone he had set on his cell for the LGBT Mentoring service. If they had an emergency, like, say, an LGBT student was/has/is trying to commit suicide and they need someone to go negotiate with the involved party, then that was the ring tone Tim heard.

Tim considered, for a moment, whether another’s life was, at that moment, worth more than his sleep, but in the end he reached for the phone and picked it up

“Drake,” he said, going to his mini-fridge to grab yet another Starbucks double shot from his emergency store... he had a feeling he was going to need it.

“Hey Tim.” said the familiar voice of the campus security dispatch. Tim didn’t know exactly when they got on first name basis, probably about the fifth time they had to call Tim in on a case.

“We have a guy who we believe was going through a panic attack and hung up the phone in your building. When we asked what was on his mind he said...well to make a long story short, he started to realize things about his sexual identity and apparently couldn’t cope too well.”

Tim groaned internally. This was the worst kind of case.

“What room number?” he asked in a hard tone and grabbed a swiss army knife from his desk drawer.

“1255,” the dispatcher’s voice said. A flash of déjà vu hit Tim, but he ignored it.

“Got it,” said Tim, and he was already out the door. As he ran through the halls, he grabbed the double shot, flipped it on its side and tore a hole at the base of it with his pocket knife. Never once breaking his gait, he tipped the hole up to his face and simultaneously popped the top. The small container took a total of two seconds to completely consume and get tossed in a passing trash can.

He had his key out and opened the multiple series of doors to get through the maze of Liz Waters and its ridiculous number of locked doors for security. Soon he was standing in front of room 1255.

Why did this number seem to tickle at something in the back of his mind? It was really starting bother Tim.

Tim knocked on the door.

“Hey, could you open up?”

No response. Tim pressed his ear to the door and concentrated on listening for a noise, anything to show that there was a living presence in the room. Please say they haven’t passed out or anything... that would take more than a lone double shot.

There! He heard it. Sharp, shallow, rapid fire breaths, but quiet, almost like the person was running out of air.

Tim reacted, that was more than enough cause, and pulled the master key out of his key ring and opened the door, and realized why that number had sounded familiar to him.

This was Kon’s room. It was... oh SHIT!

Tim practically exploded into the room, only to discover that he couldn’t even find Kon for the first few seconds. The entire space was torn to peaces, as if someone who was a little too handy with a sledge hammer had been given free reign of the room, and... There! In the corner, Kon was slumped into the wall, his knuckles bloody, his face ashen, and his breathes rapid and shallow. He seemed to be shaking. Glassy eyes swiveled in their sockets to fall on Tim and he groaned.

Tim produced a paper bag out of... somewhere, and was at Kon’s side in an instant. He took the bag and placed it over Kon’s mouth, while simultaneously shifting Kon from a sitting position to a lying down one, raising his feet onto a nearby upturned futon. Hopefully he wasn’t going into shock or anything, but better safe and all that.

Tim knelt behind Kon’s head and placed his head in his lap while intently staring down into Kon’s face. Kon’s eyes swiveled frantically, as if he was trying to look anywhere but back up at Tim. Though Tim could probably, had this been a normal situation where his objectivity was unimpaired, postulate several theories at to why Kon wouldn’t look at him, but not now... now he could only feel. And it felt... it felt bad, that Kon wouldn’t look at him.

While one hand was occupied keeping the bag over Kon’s mouth while Kon tried to breathe his own carbon dioxide, Tim used his other hand to brush gently though the buzz cut of Kon’s hair to rest on the side of Kon’s face.

Kon’s breathing slowed and he closed his eyes and let out a pained sound, as if he were being torn to peaces.

Tim slowly removed the bag and set his hand to rest on Kon’s collar bone. Kon let out another cry, a whimper almost, and opened his eyes and looked up into Tim’s eyes. The pain is evident, and Tim doesn’t know what to say. Hours, no, days of training, years of experience and he doesn’t know what to do. Kon just looked at him, and Tim felt as if he’s just been petrified. Never in his entire life had anyone looked at him with that much raw emotion.

The moment passed and Kon shifted his feet off the futon and averted his eyes again, color still not returned to his face. He didn’t move his head out of Tim’s lap though.

“You know... I told them... you know, when I called campus help, I told them that I was having a breakdown because I thought I might be gay, but I was lying, you know?” Kon said, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Tim thought he might, and let out a little snort of a laugh, “Last week, I tried to go to Cold Stone without you?”

“Yeah, and how’d that go for you?” asked Kon a bittersweet smile in his voice as if he knew that they were just talking to postpone the inevitable.

“Bad.”

Kon let out a sharp exhalation that bordered on a laugh.

“I couldn’t, you know? I couldn’t come again, and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t bring myself to call you and do it again, you know?”

Tim just looked down at Kon, a stinging feeling coming to his eyes. That was strange.

Kon looked up at Tim with visible effort. “I started to realize that I didn’t want to come anymore because it was... That I was starting to like spending time with you, doing absolutely nothing, more than anything I could think of, and that scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah... I think it’s kind of like that for me as well,” said Tim forcing himself to look down at Kon, into Kon.

Kon slowly closed his eyes again and attempted to sit up, eventually managing it, some of the color returning to his face, and turned to face Tim.

They looked at each other for a little while, before Kon said, “What now?”

Tim seemed to jolt out of some deep thought and looked around for a second before saying, almost as if logical thought were an impulse he couldn’t control, “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have a roommate, but in any case you can’t sleep here tonight.”

Kon looked at him for a minute before Tim continued, “Well, I have a futon, and you could stay on it... if you wanted.”

“I don’t—“ Kon began to say, before catching himself and trying again, “I, uh, I don’t want to sleep on your futon... unless you’re there...” Kon kind of trailed off.

Tim looked at him for a little while and realized that that was really what he wanted as well. It really was.

“Yeah, come on,” said Tim rising from his spot, for fear that if he stayed any longer, just looking at Kon, he might not be able to stop.

Tim walked over to Kon and put a hand under his arm and heaved him up.

Kon started for a second at the apparent strength Tim had. Kon knew he wasn’t exactly light, in fact he knew that most people probably could lift him, but Tim had, and now Tim was pressed tightly to his side, supporting him, and he felt... solid, unyielding. He felt right.

Tim and Kon left the dorm, Tim shutting and locking the door behind him and then helping Kon stumble down the hallway to the elevator. A better description would have been that Tim more carried Kon than helped him, and again Kon was almost shocked that Tim could do not only that, but do it without even breathing hard.

Soon enough they were back at Tim’s dorm and Tim opened the door and helped Kon as they entered.

Once inside, Tim gently lead Kon to the futon and set him down and let Kon adjust himself on the bed.

Tim quickly undressed to his boxers, a flash of moonlight sneaking in through the window to illuminate his body for a second and Kon nearly gasped. Tim was... venomously beautiful. His muscles were the muscles that he’d expect to slither over an assassin. They were coiled and compact, implying deadly, explosive power, and they rippled across Tim’s body like turbulent water. That combined with the halo of his milky skin as it was illuminated by the moonlight was... well, fucking awesome.

Kon almost felt the need to comment on it, but Tim cut him off by climbing into the futon with Kon, pressing up against his back, and wrapping his hands around his waste. Kon shuddered at the feeling of rightness of Tim pressed against him and the feel of Tim nuzzling his head into the crook where his shoulder met his neck.

That’s strange. Did Kon just imagine that, or did something feel wet on his neck?

Kon turned in Tim’s loose grip and faced him. Tim looked at him, with what were obviously tears on his cheeks, but he seemed not to realize it.

“Everything ok, Kon?” Tim asked, looking slightly confused.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” said Kon as he pulled Tim against him, into him, and relished the feeling of Tim’s body against his, and repeated,

“Everything is fine.”

XXXXXX

A/N: AHHHH HA! I’m done... this didn’t consume my entire day even though I have a calc midterm tomorrow. Posh! Not at all!

Anyways, not much to say here. To everyone waiting for another installment of “Shit” please be patient and also realize that me writing this is good. Recharge the batteries and all that.

I’ve got nothing else.

Please remember that I survive on a strict diet of reviews and cafeteria food.

Hope to see you all soon, and hear from you sooner,

--Oranis—

*Edit* This is an edit to the original A/N not the story.

I though that a little more explanation of the characters and their personalities was required.

I don’t read the comics. I only know the characters of Tim and Kon by reading a lot of fan fiction. While I believe that I can get a handle on the characters from the fiction, I don’t believe that I can do the same for the overall plot of the DCU; hence the AU.

I realize that Tim and Kon are both a little different than what they would otherwise be in another story. This is because neither of them have their rather unique backgrounds that they had in the DCU.

Because of this I had to sort each of their personality traits into an intrinsic category and an environment-produced category. As I said before, I haven’t read the comics. This means a lot of guess work on my part as far as characterization is concerned in an AU like this. I believe that I got pretty close here with that, but I can’t be exactly positive.

For instance, I knew that Tim would obviously more emotional than in the series, but at the same time I believed he would be naturally pretty reclusive/unemotional.

The reason that I say this is that I would like to get feedback explaining whether you think I got it right, or if I got it wrong, and why. I am, actually, pretty curious.

Thanks,

--Oranis--
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