SEEMS LIKE WE'RE MEANT TO BE // O; BRUCE

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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/please wait for Rev with Win/Bruce!

This time, Dick knew where Win went off to, although it didn't make it an easier burden to bear. His absence, regardless of the reasons for it, never failed to drain some of the brightness from Dick's days, to tear away the polish and the way the sun's rays warmed his skin. He missed him when he knew he was somewhere safe, and missed him when he didn't, so it was inevitable, really, that he would find himself a bit on edge. It was different, however, because now he could follow him; it was just a matter of debating whether or not he should. Win undoubtedly felt Dick's own lacking presence, but that in itself wasn't a call for him to throw himself forward, into his footsteps, and arrive out of the blue beside him. It was tempting, definitely, but he had to consider that Win had his reasons for leaving, as he always did. A large part of him wanted to shout "fuck it" and follow him, while the rest of Dick considered that the ties remaining between them all and Flintlock Lodge had tugged Win into the cold not because he tired of the abundant warmth in their home now, but because he thought of the faces they'd left behind, and the fates behind them. People could say many things about the man -that he was coarse and distant and didn't trust easily- and none of that changed how much he cared beneath sheets of deflection and steel. If that was supposed to be a train of pondering meant to dissuade Dick, it...wasn't succeeding.

If anything, he only thought more of his other half, out in the cold and alone, pursuing a sense of duty that he had always admired him for. He had Ace, yes, but- well. Nothing ever felt right unless they were together, so the lingering wrongness he carried with him chilled the day, stole the blue of the sky, staled the air's freshness. There seemed to be a pattern that always reared its head whenever Win left, one of longing and realization, yearning for his smile and learning the unfathomable depths stirred by just a memory's flash of said lips curling. All the aches and pains involved in his departures aside, the end recognition never failed in directing him to how helplessly, hopelessly, irrevocably, ridiculously in love he was. Sometimes he wondered how he'd never figured it out sooner, but then, this wasn't a race, was it? Every moment was meant to be savored, even if it meant that it took a little longer to reach the next stepping stone, and even if it meant that he'd feel like a complete idiot for never being aware of it earlier.

So Dick followed him because he could, and because Win had waited long enough for him to pull his head out of the sand, although knowing him, he was in a position closely resembling Dick's own. Maybe he kept looking at the door on occasion, waiting for Dick to walk through it after a multitude of promises swearing that he would never be apart from him if he could help it. And this time, he was able to do something about it.

That something resulted in the dark-haired man dropping through the window to the rabbits' room, armed with pens, ribbons, paper, and a small velvet box all safely tucked away from the snow. Johannes could scold him later for this, after Dick finished taking this metaphorical leap across, onto the next stone. His rapidly beating heart sang with both excitement and terror, worrying about a "no" while anticipating the fall of Win's feet beside his own, where they belonged. He slipped into a cross-legged position on the floor, calming his breaths forcibly and stilling the hands that drew ink along parchment and rolled ribbon around coiled paper. From there it was a matter of appropriating several of their white rabbits and gently tying the black and red bands around their fluffy necks. His pulse had to be faster than that of the slimmest hare darting away from danger, although Dick was heading in the opposite direction, and it wasn't necessarily a life or death situation, as much as it felt like it.

He walked toward it, cradling the three rabbits as carefully as he could. Despite the months away from this place, he still knew the layout as though he'd been here just yesterday, and navigating his way through the lodge took little effort. He received a few odd stares, but no one hindered his journey. It wasn't until he reached the door of their room that Dick had to stop, head spinning, teeth latched onto his bottom lip. Stop being a dumbass. He loves you, for whatever reason. The coolness of the ring around his own finger grounded him, as it often had, and with a deep inhale, he nudged his foot against the door in several distinct knocks before dropping to one knee, bunnies secure in his arms. Fuck. He was terrified, and his mind frantically latched onto something to review, something to distract the seize of his lungs and his muscles, eventually clinging to the letters he'd written not so long ago, hanging from the rabbits' necks.

1. Even a hare's breadth is farther from you than I want to be, but no matter how far, I'll never be more than a hop away.

2. I want any future I can have with you. I don't carrot if that means we die five or ten or fifteen years from now, just that we've spent that time together.

3. Somebunny loves you, and that somebunny wants to love all of you for as long as he can, through thick and thin, rain and shine, in as many ways possible.

[BRUCE H]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.3;"]/ me, screaming internally,

Taking the two of them apart was like plucking the stars from the sky. The two of them were so well intertwined that you would have a hard time ever fully taking them apart — the sky was vast, and there are ten trillion galaxies inside it, each with billions of stars clustered together. You would waste your time pulling the two of them to pieces, and unless you were some god, it would never be complete. That didn't mean that it couldn't hurt, of course. Being without him was cutting off a limb or two. Logically speaking, it was inefficient as hell. The two of them worked best when they were together, and while he trusted his partner to take care of himself, that didn't seem to keep him from getting antsy whenever he was away too long. Sure, it's not your typical clinginess, he has reasons for worrying after is safety so much, but he tries to keep it quiet nonetheless. Needless to say, he is feeling Dick's absence like a hole in his foundation, leaving him unstable and lost. Not many people could tell, looking at him. To almost everyone, he was calm and collected. Unbreakable, perhaps. Indomitable.

To be gentle is to be vulnerable, yet he's always found himself secure in the strength of his partner's softness. The two of them both had tempers, more often than not directed at each other (he would never have it any other way), but when simplified, they always ended up tidying up whatever mess they created. Win didn't want someone who never tore him apart. However fucked up it was, he enjoyed being pushed to his breaking point at times. What he wanted — what he needed — was someone who always picked up the pieces. Because Bruce knows that he’s being rebuilt every time Dick smiles at him, and it leaves him helpless to act even still. Part of him wants to fight it, to shake his head and tell him that he’s wrong. A petulant child too aware of his own sharp edges, and perhaps he had gotten far too used to them. He was too conscious of the harm they could cause. The heartbreak. But the other, more sensible part of him (or merely the child that was still easily awed), only wants to help him. To pick up those shards of glass and watch him work with them, turning something broken into something beautiful, carving a new being out of the discarded porcelain statues. Ideas of what he should be that nobody got right, failed attempts at a person.

He'd never paused to pick and choose. Whatever Bruce showed him, he adored.

It was silly, really. He should have known that being back here would only make him feel more homesick. They had spent far too many nights tangled up in the bed he had just made for being there alone to be anywhere near easy. He spins the ring idly on his finger most of the time now, smooth black band reminding him both of what he had left behind and what he had to come back to. The problem, though, is that he can never seem to focus on anything but him. Bruce had always called Dick an awful distraction. It seems as if everyone had seen them as a pair before even they did, but he would be lying if he tried to say that he hadn't truly noticed him before. The first time Win had felt himself choke was when he came back with that tongue piercing, and — he sighs, then, deciding to break off yet another train of thought before it goes too far and the faint twinge that comes with separation turns into full-blown heartbreak. Johannes is already upset with him for leaving in the first place, and while he would always put Dick before the opinion of others, this is hardly the time to abandon those who need him.

So he cards his hand through hair that's becoming just a touch too long for his tastes, enough to begin curling aimlessly into short little waves. It goes well with the faint layer of stubble and warm skin that was slowly returning to its ice age induced paleness. If he's being entirely honest with himself, Bruce knows that he looks like some lumberjack just returned to the forest — except hopefully his clothing is enough to differentiate the two, despite the fact that he does own a few comfortable flannel shirts. At least he's not wearing that now. Even if it's cold in the lodge, he's sitting sideways in the armchair, legs propped over one armrest and back against the other, wearing nothing but worn old jeans and a black shirt. The room feels dull and empty, even with Ace asleep stretched out on the loveseat and the covering for the old window removed. It had lost its lived-in touch without his better half around. No more quiet conversations or dragging him out of bed, no more laughing at mutinous morning hair.

That makes it sound like they broke up or something, doesn't it? No, they'd already suffered through that once — trying it again might crush Bruce for good, and he has no intention of even looking at anyone else for the remainder of his life. Putting words to that feels fluttery and warm, like a bird waking up to sing. It's pointless to try and say that he hasn't considered the implications of that before, the thoughts always muddled with ideas he got from an old album of pictures, his mother in a wedding dress and his father looking so awed. He's not someone who would typically put much thought to that; they live in a world where food is scarce and survival is based on who's the most capable of earning it, that doesn't seem like a place for whatever he's thinking. But he knows what the world is like without him. He doesn't want to know that feeling anymore.

The book Bruce had been attempting to read thumps back down on the coffee table a second before the knocks at the door distract him for good, his mind automatically jumping to times he'd heard it before. Hands full with something or another, knocking for help. It had usually been accompanied by his voice, then, and it could be anyone in this lodge, but for someone who was so goddamn good at being cynical, hope is already mixing with please and I miss you. Maybe he's a little quick to open the door.

It still feels like it's too slow.

Watching someone pull them apart is the sky going dark. Not even a stormy night, where the sky is too overcast to see the stars. It's empty and dull and quiet. But watching them find each other again is New Year's in Times Square, it's meteor showers in the middle of nowhere. All Win wants is to get his arms around him, to kiss him until they're both breathless in the middle of the hallway, because if Dick thought he could possibly behave after not seeing him for this long, he should get his head out of the clouds. Though that's likely impossible, since they have a tendency to both end up there when it's just the two of them. They have their own little corner of the universe, built on everything from sharp interactions when they were young to how easily Dick fit up against his side when they slept. He may be here because of some sense of duty to everyone else that lived in this lodge with him, but the second his pale eyes meet the goddamned ocean, he feels like he's home. Seeing Dick kneeling there doesn't make sense, his first instinct being to drag him back up and hold him.

But he has rabbits and Win's heart is doing flips, feeling hot from his throat to the pit of his stomach. "Dick," is all he breathes, sounding uncertain. The last time he'd found him like this had left him feeling similarly, though this was far amplified. He can see the spot where Dick had been biting his lip, he could still count his eyelashes and the messy peaks of his hair, and he finds himself swallowing hard, an aborted rock forward betraying how badly he wanted to touch him. Instead, Bruce tries to focus on letting Dick guide the moment in whatever direction he had planned. "You're here."

[ashen]

//um track bc i need to remember to stalk this but. im not sure johannes would uh...be here or /want/ to be here so

[BRUCE H]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.3;"]/ just have him show up and shout no pda at them after all of this is done i'm crying

[ashen]

//HONESTLY HE WILL HES SO GRUMPY

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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/sorry this is so awful Rev
JOHANNES YES

Bruce Gideon Holloway, Win to his friends (or those who overheard said friends), and a nightmare to anyone who made the abominable mistake of pissing him off, whether knowingly or unknowingly. He was a towering epitome of stoicism and control, a walking guard tower dissuading many strangers -and even those who’d been acquainted with him- from approaching. Sharp lines met pointed corners collided with jagged outcroppings, and it was easy to imagine that he’d settled down in such an isolated, freezing terrain as Flintlock Lodge. But of course, Dick’s hands never met coiled barbwire when he reached forward, never scraped across graveled stone or flinched away at an intense burn. They’d grated on each other in the beginning, after they met again following the brief brush during Dick’s younger days, but somehow, impossibly, Bruce had never truly taken measures to chase him away. As stubborn as Dick was, there were certainly ways of turning him aside, and it was never clear who, between them, was the more obstinate, just that while Bruce was more than capable of scaring the hell out of people, Dick had never been terrified of him.

Afraid of, definitely not, but afraid for- always.

Because Dick didn’t know him as the distant, rigid person those outside of their circle did; he didn’t turn his head toward him and see battlements. Win was warm, but not enough to burn, and he was serrated, but not enough to cut. The person most likely to be injured by Win was the man himself, hauling the guilt onto his own shoulders, beating himself for perceived shortcomings, and he supposed in that way they were similar, although Dick didn’t exactly acknowledge the part about his own possible integrity involved with the many burdens he carried on his own back. Not only that, but one of the most prominent errors made by people was the depth of his apathy. They could think him a machine, though Dick knew better, knew the thump of his heart and how it would bleed not for himself, but for someone else. With all of this, it seemed impossible not to love him, not to drag fingertips in a featherlight dance across his jaw while he slept, not to kiss him on his brow whether it was wrinkled in concern or smooth with rest.

In hindsight, Dick couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to be so damn clueless. He didn’t know how he’d tricked his mind into registering the skip of his pulse upon seeing him in the morning as anything but that kind of fondness he completely acknowledged now, one he gave voice to as often as he could in the shape of three letters pressed against Win’s mouth or passed in the scant inches between them. Tripping head over heels didn’t immediately knock sense into him, so gradual of a fall it had been, so maybe that had allowed the past Dick to drag the wool over his own eyes when it came to that persistent bloom of pleasant warmth whenever he stood beside Win. It was the same warmth he felt now, down on one knee, lump in his throat and the most beautiful person on this mostly green Earth standing in the doorway in front of him.

Stubble coated his cheeks, and his hair fell in dark waves shorter than Dick's own but longer than he'd kept it the last they were at the lodge. He heard his name on a gust of air, as though saying it truly was as natural as breathing, and that- that was the case for Win's name, so why wouldn't it hold true for his? Names, however, were the very last thing on Dick's mind, which had gone horrifically blank the moment Win opened the door, and if he weren't better controlled he might have lost his grip on the trio of rabbits, who were thankfully still. Biting his cheek, an automatic smile curled his mouth, wobbling faintly, imperceptible enough that only Win would ever notice, and since he was the only one around, he should have made more of an effort to be less...affected. "The rabbits. I was-" Dick inhaled, licking his slightly swollen lips, "You were supposed to read them and laugh at my stupid jokes, and then I'd pull out the ring but- I can't wait anymore." The bunnies he placed off to the side, far enough they wouldn't be stepped on and not so far that they wouldn't be noticeable. With his now free hands, he dug the small velvet box out from his -Win's, technically- jacket, and with fingers steadier than he expected, he pulled the lid back. "Bruce, I'm crazy for you. I know I must've said that before but when you're gone it drives me nuts, and when you're here I'm no better."

Slim digits flexed across the dark box, and he swallowed thickly, though never once did he look away from Win's face. "Thing is, the world is a pretty shitty place. You make it better- you always have, and not just my life. You've helped so many people, and I was hoping that maybe...Maybe when someone asks who that nice young man is, I'll get to say, 'that's my husband.'" It'd never been so hot in here before, had it? "So how about it, Winnie? Will you marry me?"

[BRUCE H]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/ I'M YELLING ALLOY YOUR POST WAS SO GREAT

In the name of confessions that would have felt clumsy if they ever passed his lips, there was something about Dick that never ceased to make everyone else in the room feel important. That was something he found himself incapable of admitting even now, though it's likely that the whole world knows it except for him. Just how goddamn loved he makes everyone feel. If you had his attention, you were the most important person in the world. Not like it was with him, where loving someone finally allows sunshine to touch both his skin and theirs. Dick was sunshine, lighting up parts of people that nobody else got to see. Even before Win had found words for whatever he felt, he'd watched Jason act like a child for the first time in his life when he was with him, he'd watched everyone have the same realization that he did — that this was someone who was genuinely and wholeheartedly good in a world where that was a weakness. Maybe he'd just never thought that that attention would be turned on him the way that it was. Maybe he'd never imagined himself opening up like Jason had.

Never imagined himself finding someone that he felt so safe with. Maybe that's it.

That's not to call Dick harmless. The sun, as necessary as it may be, can still leave you tired and burned. He's no harmless flower. Bruce knows all too well the strength contained in him, mentally and physically. Sometimes the tension would snap and it was always the two of them who seemed to get the worst of it, and it hurt but what else could you expect when two people had loved each other so wholly for such a long time? It took time, yet they would always be there to help the other up and dust them off. Dick liked to blame himself for everything that went wrong. Maybe the man blamed himself for the apocalypse too, if Bruce ever dug deep enough into all of the insecurities he hides with playful smiles and puns made into a mask. Everyone knows that he cares, but there aren't many who look closely enough to see all of the cracks. To them, maybe it's something that ruins the perfect picture they have of him. That wasn't what he was. However hard he may try to go it alone, Bruce knows the point where steady hands start to shake, and where hurt bleeds into anger. He knows what it's like up to wake up to his eyes already on him, so heartwarmingly fond, and how could anyone who had been allowed that ever leave him?

Of the many memories the two of them had shared, both bitter and sweet, there aren't very many that Bruce can look back and find absent of his own tripping heart. To say that Dick awed him from the start was an understatement, however reluctant he had been to admit it at that point. (God knows he admits it now.) If he's being honest with himself, he'd been scared. People didn't love him; maybe they didn't know how, but neither did he. The only way that he would ever learn was through trying for himself. From the moment they first kissed, he'd known that he would never be able to stop. There was a whole world of warmth hidden behind his rib cage, and all he can hope for is that one day Dick will know why it's there. Their love was an admission breathed out between attempts of showing it. It was bringing him flowers for Valentine's Day and a ring for their anniversary. It was fingers trailing across his jaw, it was kissing his nose and telling him that he was beautiful.

All of this — it was Dick, treating him as if he's something to be kept, and cared for — loved.

For however oblivious his mind could be when it comes to anything dealing with love that had to be explained as anything more than I love you, it's awfully quick to fill in the blanks when he tries to swallow. His eyes keep dragging over him as if he's confused, and perhaps he is. And so Bruce waits breathlessly, each moment passing slower than the last as his focus is turned completely on him. There's no fighting the elation bubbling in his chest, or the nearly overpowering urge to abandon this waiting game and simply kiss him until both of their mouths are sore, and it feels stranger to stop than to continue. Every time he's here. This is no worse than every other time they're together, stupidly fluttery and warm and soft. Seeing him on his knees is almost confusing, though the pieces fit together a little too well, and love is both powerful and confusing when mixed with that level of... Expectation.

Red flushes up his cheeks as Dick talks, light and barely visible under the thick layer of stubble, but hot enough to burn and present enough to make him dizzy. He'd made a comment before that he wasn't used to being wooed. The idea of a fairytale romance was entirely unfamiliar to him, he'd never really pictured himself in a wedding. As a child the idea had felt disgusting — why bother with that? — as a teenager, he'd been far too busy. After that? Well, it had just been Dick, and maybe he was still just being oblivious. The problem with that is that now it's flooding through him like a tidal wave, a flood of pictures and feelings. Being in love with him is remembering that the world feels good. He makes him feelgood. Bruce braces a hand against the doorframe, tense enough with anticipation that he can feel his entire body trembling with it, like a dog still waiting for an order no matter how badly he wants to move. It settles in his gut and he bites the side of his tongue — this place is dull and cold and to be honest, he preferred the home that they had made away from it. Warmer for Damian, more space for the dog. But he's paying a debt and he wants him here.

For a moment that would seem to drag on forever to anyone who wasn't stuck in the loop that the two of them made, all Win can do is stare at him. Not many people got to see him even relatively relaxed, but while his mind is figuring out what to say, his expression is wonderfully open for someone like him, blue eyes wide and warm even as his throat closes up on him. Will you marry me? "You know, I'm really glad you put the rabbits down." That will probably sound stupid later, but he'll blame it on the sudden lack of any thoughts that didn't have to do with him. The tipping edge of his smile, the warm color of his mouth, the anxiety that seems to thrum off of him in waves. His own pent up energy pours out of him in a few rushed strides, his hand over Dick's smaller one, the box closed between them, as if it's something he's trying to protect. The other braces against the wall, just long enough to duck his head and press their foreheads together, trying to string together anything more than I love you. Instead, he kisses him. Long and slow and sweet, putting words into each pass of his lips. Or maybe he just keeps saying "I love you". Dick can hear it.

When he stops long enough to breathe, he tries for a little bit more. His hand moves from the wall to his partner's cheek, rough palm open and his last two fingers curled under his jaw, thumb sweeping across his cheekbone. Words have never been friends of his, much less so when he can hardly make sense of what he feels. But his heart is threatening to shatter its enclosure, and his breath is shaking slightly. "I've been yours for a long time." He kisses him again, and again, and again, each one lingering a second longer than the one before. His eyes are closed when he finally quits, close enough that their noses still brush. "Yes." It's less than a whisper against his lips, the buzz of their kisses leaving him with a shiver running down his spine. "Yes." Later tonight, he'll find the words for what he can't say now. A long list of what he loves about him, but for now all he can say is, "Yes," a little bit louder, with a smile that he could never dream of stopping. This time, with just a hint of his own mischief. "I still want to know what the rabbits have to say, though."