He needs the other ten to... to smooth the legs of his jeans for the Nth time, the material still feeling utterly alien; because cotton kills. Like the pullover hoodie (dark red- of course), the fit is loose enough to hide in. Not loose enough to fall off of him. Of course. The fit is small. (Tim is small. He never thought about it much. In the grand scheme of things, what was one skipped meal a day? Two? One sickness, another acid-bite of an empty stomach. Burning, weakness, fevers, hunger. What did those things mean to Tim anymore? Tim is small. He never thought about it much. But now that he's 7 minutes out from seeing his brother, Tim thinks-- maybe he should have thought about just how small he was getting. Not for his own sake, but because he so desperately both needs to see his brother and needs to not be seen. It's troublesome.)
Tim's hair is still shaggy(er) than he'd like it- he could pull it up. But there's a stubborn insistence that he'll look all the way presentable again, someday. Soon. (At least he's clean shaven.)
He's three minutes out and he thinks about, like, a world without Dick Grayson.
He's 5 minutes out (he's 2 minutes late) and you know, it's downright eerie to see familiar buildings in this artificial city. Tim keeps his hands in his pockets and marches on.
There's a burger place close to the Manor. Tim smells the joint before he sees it; his stomach lurches, he hears it growl and he wonders if the thought of a burger is appetizing or off-putting.
So.
That's how he greets-- Dick. Trying his damnedest to distract himself with guessing the appropriate biological responses to bacon cheeseburgers, with a slow (and slowing) gait, hands held stubbornly inside the hoodie pocket and ohmygod if he doesn't swallow that lump in his throat he's going to choke and] --- [that's not embarrassing or anything but] --uh.
[A world without Dick Grayson.
Not Etraya. Not here.
(His pack!)
What shame? Tim launches himself at his brother his brother this is his brother-!] Dick you have no idea-! [ok maybe there's a little shame; not easing on the embrace, Tim makes to hide his face. Oh my god.
hi.]
no worries at all! I write some doozies myself on occasion
[ Yeah, Dick had some idea as to what to expect, given what he's been told from reliable sources, but none of that could have prepared him to take in the way his brother looks right now, standing in front of him, giving him a long look that speaks volumes about how much time has effectively passed since they last met. It's worlds of difference between the way he saw Tim last, which isn't to say that he looks terrible or anything it's just— he's rough around the edges in a way that's both new and familiar at the same time somehow. But before he has to think of what to say about it Tim's already wrapping his arms in for a tight hug, and that takes priority over talking anyway.
Dick gives him a tight squeeze right back, because whatever Tim's had to go through, potentially on his own, he's sorry he wasn't there, even if there's no way he could have been, and he's here now.
He'll give it a minute, or more, before he tries to ruffle Tim's hair. ]
Hey.
[ Dick worries about all of them, all the time, whether or not he says so. And frankly he doesn't say so often enough, he thinks, not since he moved away from Gotham and didn't get to talk to them nearly as much. Of course then there's this place, and he's been closer to some of them, which... has been a good thing, if tough to get through some days, especially when they're thrown into the tougher missions. ]
I don't, I know. [ In answer to the statement that Tim gave up on halfway through. ] But you can tell me all about it, if you want to.
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no subject
Sure, meet you out front?
TL;DR INCOMING im sorry for the book (cw: weight loss, disordered eating)
[He needs 10 minutes.
He needs the other ten to... to smooth the legs of his jeans for the Nth time, the material still feeling utterly alien; because cotton kills. Like the pullover hoodie (dark red- of course), the fit is loose enough to hide in. Not loose enough to fall off of him. Of course. The fit is small. (Tim is small. He never thought about it much. In the grand scheme of things, what was one skipped meal a day? Two? One sickness, another acid-bite of an empty stomach. Burning, weakness, fevers, hunger. What did those things mean to Tim anymore? Tim is small. He never thought about it much. But now that he's 7 minutes out from seeing his brother, Tim thinks-- maybe he should have thought about just how small he was getting. Not for his own sake, but because he so desperately both needs to see his brother and needs to not be seen. It's troublesome.)
Tim's hair is still shaggy(er) than he'd like it- he could pull it up. But there's a stubborn insistence that he'll look all the way presentable again, someday. Soon. (At least he's clean shaven.)
He's three minutes out and he thinks about, like, a world without Dick Grayson.
He's 5 minutes out (he's 2 minutes late) and you know, it's downright eerie to see familiar buildings in this artificial city. Tim keeps his hands in his pockets and marches on.
There's a burger place close to the Manor. Tim smells the joint before he sees it; his stomach lurches, he hears it growl and he wonders if the thought of a burger is appetizing or off-putting.
So.
That's how he greets-- Dick. Trying his damnedest to distract himself with guessing the appropriate biological responses to bacon cheeseburgers, with a slow (and slowing) gait, hands held stubbornly inside the hoodie pocket and ohmygod if he doesn't swallow that lump in his throat he's going to choke and] --- [that's not embarrassing or anything but] --uh.
[A world without Dick Grayson.
Not Etraya. Not here.
(His pack!)
What shame? Tim launches himself at his brother his brother this is his brother-!] Dick you have no idea-! [ok maybe there's a little shame; not easing on the embrace, Tim makes to hide his face. Oh my god.
hi.]
no worries at all! I write some doozies myself on occasion
Dick gives him a tight squeeze right back, because whatever Tim's had to go through, potentially on his own, he's sorry he wasn't there, even if there's no way he could have been, and he's here now.
He'll give it a minute, or more, before he tries to ruffle Tim's hair. ]
Hey.
[ Dick worries about all of them, all the time, whether or not he says so. And frankly he doesn't say so often enough, he thinks, not since he moved away from Gotham and didn't get to talk to them nearly as much. Of course then there's this place, and he's been closer to some of them, which... has been a good thing, if tough to get through some days, especially when they're thrown into the tougher missions. ]
I don't, I know. [ In answer to the statement that Tim gave up on halfway through. ] But you can tell me all about it, if you want to.