Chapter Text
In retrospect, there were so many signs.
Kon tried not to think about them, and mostly succeeded, but it was inevitable before bed. Staring at his ceiling in the dark, burying his face in his pillow, scrolling on his phone, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t help remembering all the little moments that he would never tell anyone else about, even under threat of death. Sometimes Tim looks at me and it’s too much. We went to a concert and he grabbed my belt loop and I liked it. Once he chewed me out after a mission and I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I jerked off.
They got back from their mission and everyone hung out in the common room. Normally Conner was all for snacks, drinks, and heckling Cassie and Tim when they played Overcooked but not after a mission where they ended up facing off with Lex.
He wasn’t going to stay but still, he checked out the snacks. His back was to his friends but they must’ve sensed his bad mood.
“Think you can beat me?” Cassie asked him from the couch.
“Maybe later,” he said, without looking back. “I’m going to bed.”
Bart zoomed to his side.
“Don’t worry— we’re going to stop him.”
“Like I even care,” Kon said, grabbing a rice krispie treat. “I’m just tired.”
“I’m just saying that if—”
“Well no one asked you to say anything.”
“Sorry,” said Bart, backing down. That was what he wanted but it just made him feel worse.
On the walk to his room, he got a good look at Cassie’s sympathetic face, Cissie’s judgmental side-eye like he was being a baby, Greta whispering something to Bart, and Tim. Of course Tim. Not even looking away from the game.
His bedroom at Mount Justice had more of his stuff than Ma and Pa’s house. Since graduating high school he spent less time on the farm. He was way too wired to even try going to bed.
He scrolled through Netflix but nothing sounded good.
Seeing Lex always pissed him off, and today he hadn’t even had time to prepare.
There had been a time when Lex was the only person who loved him. Who looked at him with pride and not horrified disgust or cold suspicion. He knew that Lex was evil and that he did evil things, but sometimes it sucked to reconcile that with the fact that one of things Lex did was create him. Lex probably still loved him now— as a son, product, investment, and weapon. To Lex, they were synonyms.
He gave up on Netflix and watched his favorite episodes of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. Then his least favorite, so he could angrily bitch about it in his head. Near midnight there was a knock on his door.
It was Tim.
He looked smaller outside the suit, or maybe it was just the baggy old sweatshirt— maroon with a faded Gotham Knights logo. He walked into the room, without being asked, and the door slid shut behind him.
“That was cool with the screws. Earlier,” said Tim.
Conner wanted to roll his eyes but instead he just crossed his arms.
“It was your idea.”
“Okay, but you’re the one who did it.”
“Anyone can unscrew some stuff.”
“Not from giant MECHbots, simultaneously, fifty feet away.”
“Save it for my performance review,” he said, annoyed. The last thing he wanted was his team leader stopping by to compliment one of his only powers that he didn’t get from Clark.
Tim chewed his lip, like he knew he was fucking this up.
“Look. I know you’re angry that he got away but I swear we’ll bring him in. I haven’t checked his taxes in a while, and that’s how they got Capone—”
“I’m not angry about anything. Like I give a shit about Lex.”
“If you’re going to lie at least be better at it.”
“Maybe you could give me some pointers. Like painting lessons from Van Gogh.”
“You know what, fine. If you’re just gonna throw a pity party and let an asshole like Lex ruin your night, fine. I’m done trying to make you feel better.”
He turned to the door.
Kon got in his way. At least picking a fight was something to do and besides, he’d always been down for anything that made Tim look at him.
“Oh, is that what you’re doing? Making me feel better? A vague compliment about something that was your idea, anyway— then accuse me of lying, be angry at me, and leave. Is that how they do it in the Bat Cave?”
Tim glared at him.
“What would you suggest? Act stupid and joke around until the problem magically solves itself?”
“Wow. I’m feeling better already.”
He took a breath and closed his eyes, frustrated. “I’m not mad at you. You just make everything harder than it needs to be.”
“Who needs zoloft with a friend like you?”
Tim stared him down with a burning intensity.
“I hate that he gets to you— shut up. Let me say this. I think a part of you feels like you owe him something, because he made you— but fuck that. You’re so much better than him, and so much more. And just because you technically share genetic code, it’s not your job to stop him. It’s our job. But when we beat the shit out of him, you can throw the first punch.”
The speech hit him hard.
This was one of those times that the way Tim looked at him was too much. He glanced to the floor— so he could think coherently for a second— then back at him.
“You know I love it when you curse,” he finally said.
Tim chuckled. “Fuck you.”
It happened after their next fight. Tim was always surprising him, but this was a new one.
The mission was a total success. Klarion the Witch Boy tried to steal the Chaos Emeralds from the New York Natural History Museum special exhibit. The fight barely damaged the museum although Bart was briefly turned 70 years old.
Klarion shot at Kon with magical bullets, but Cassie shoved him out of the way just in time. She got shot in the arm, grazed really, but the bleeding was particularly bad for an arm wound. Tim managed to steal Klarion’s stupid cat familiar and save the day by threatening to skin him. Klarion surrendered before Tim took one of nine lives.
Cassie needed medical attention, but she was still conscious and talking. The four had dinner and played card games in the med-wing. Conner left first to go shower. Bart took the longest showers ever, so he had to grab the hot water when he could. Tim seemed normal, but as Kon would later learn, he was far from it.
Kon walked back to his room in just a towel. His hair was dripping, but towel drying it made it frizzy. His room was soundproof, so when he opened his door he got jump scared by Tim sitting on his bed with his knees pulled up. Without his TTK, he would’ve dropped his towel. Tim didn’t have his phone out and the TV was off.
“Geez. Have you just been sitting here in silence, freak?”
“You almost got shot.”
Tim finally looked at him and added, with judgement, “By Klarion.”
Conner went to his dresser. He pushed his guilt over Cassie deep down.
“I was busy fighting the giant fossil he brought to life, okay? And I was distracted by Old Bart. His hairline was scary and then I thought about how I might go bald—”
“You’re benched for a month.”
His jaw dropped, but his back was to Tim as he searched for underwear. He glanced over his shoulder with an incredulous smile.
“No I’m not.”
“‘Distracted’ is not acceptable.”
“I was mostly focused.” He threw down the towel and stepped into blue boxers. Tim’s heart picked up, probably pissed that Kon was refusing his (harsh and unfair) punishment.
“These things just happen sometimes,” said Kon, the elastic snapping against his waist. He pulled open another drawer to find pajamas.
“It won’t happen again because you’re going to log sixty hours with Training Block C.”
“Block C? That’s first year stuff.”
“Like being aware of your surroundings.”
Kon rolled his eyes and pulled on a t-shirt. “No one can be aware of everything all the time.”
“Just guns, then.”
“Guns can’t hurt me.”
“That one could,” Tim snapped and oh, he wasn’t just upset. He was livid. “You put this whole team in danger if you act like you’re invulnerable.”
Kon turned around and Tim was still sitting on the bed. His posture was relaxed but the grip around his knees was white-knuckled.
“I’m sorry that Cassie had to save my stupid ass. I slipped up. But we’re all gonna have moments like that, where even brats like Klarion get lucky—”
“It wasn’t luck,” Tim insisted. “In Unit 2 of Block C—”
“—I feel awful about Cass. But you know, and I hope she does too, that I would take a bullet for her. I’d take a bullet for any of you guys.”
“Yeah. I know all about your self-sacrificing bullshit.”
Kon laughed a little, despite the controlled fury rolling off Tim in waves. He walked up to the bed and bumped his knees against the mattress. Tim stared up at him.
“I promise to never get shot at again. Is that good enough?”
“This isn’t a joke. I don’t know why that’s such a hard concept for you to grasp. You could’ve died today.”
“That’s the job.”
“No, it’s not. You were being careless.”
“No, I wasn’t. Even when we do every training block and prepare for every possibility, accidents happen. We risk our lives every day. You can’t bench me because somebody shot at me.”
“Yes I can.”
Kon furrowed his brow, finally annoyed.
“Don’t be such a control freak. I know you’re upset, but come on. I think you need to sleep. Or get laid. Actually, if you stopped overthinking and unclenched once in a while you wouldn’t be such a—”
Tim kissed him.
What a way to avoid criticism.
For a split second he didn’t know what to do with his arms but then Tim’s arms were around his neck and on instinct he embraced him, tilting his head so they clicked into place.
Oh.
Tim kissed him like he was dying for it. He was a man possessed, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, until his world began and ended with Tim.
He smelled like sweat and shampoo. Each gasp, sigh, shaky breath turned him on to a frankly insane degree. He ran a hand down his chest and that touch alone had his dick poking through his underwear. Then he found his nipple through the fabric, so he pulled off his shirt to give him full access. It was all so fast, and nothing he hadn’t done before, but it felt like everything was magnified, more intense, driving him crazy.
Tim pulled back, just a second, to catch his breath. His eyes were the hottest part of the flame. They were kissing again before Kon could think about it. Tim pulled down his boxers. Kon was about to comment on the fact that Tim was still fully dressed— something super cool like what’s up with the clothes?— but then he was kneeling on the floor and he couldn’t say anything in light of the realization that Tim was about to suck his dick.
He inhaled shakily as Tim licked his own palm. He stroked him a few times and licked the head. Kon kinda lost it, sitting on the bed and grabbing a fist full of the sheets just so he wouldn’t scream. Tim took him all the way in and did something with his tongue that threw all resolve out the window.
Everything went so fast, felt so good, his hips rolling to chase the pleasure. Tim grabbed his hand and put it on the back of his head, Kon grabbed his hair.
“Fuck, Tim, yes— oh, fuck,” Kon moaned, pushing him lower. Tim’s mouth was the best thing in the universe. What really took him over the edge was the moment they made eye contact again. Tim and his intensity. He was pinned in place with a look as he sucked on his dick and when he came, he didn’t look away. He just swallowed and then sat back. He wiped the spit off his mouth with the back of his hand and Kon was dead but that sight killed him again.
Kon fell back, absolutely spent, and took a second to stare at the ceiling and feel his heart pounding a million miles a minute. He almost started to think, so instead he dropped to the floor and started kissing Tim again.
There was something about tasting himself on Tim’s lips that, well for one thing, made him ready to go again, but also was a reminder of reality that he couldn’t ignore.
His best friend just sucked his dick.
And he was really good at it.
Maybe in retrospect there were signs that he was into Tim, sexually speaking, but he never planned on thinking about it, much less acting on it. It was such a bad idea. Their kissing became out of sync as his thoughts got too loud to ignore. Tim pulled back.
“You don’t need to do anything,” Tim said, licking his lips. They were pink.
Tim was good-looking. He’d always been good-looking, but now that he’d had his dick in his mouth he could really let himself think about it. He sort of wanted to look at him forever, the way some people felt about paintings that sold for millions of dollars. It was like he’d always find something new to fixate on— his pretty eyes, his cute nose, his crooked tooth that made his smile cute, too.
He was also hot, but didn’t seem to know it. In fact, based on his comfortable and well-worn clothes, hair that was a few months past a haircut, and aversion to a skincare routine it was like he didn’t care about being hot at all. For some stupid reason, that made him hotter. Things like that used to annoy him. Kon spent years cultivating the perfect leather jacket vibe, then Tim would do something fucked up with his staff or make a smartass comment or singlehandedly defeat Ra’s Al Ghul— and be a million times cooler than him, without even trying.
He wasn’t annoyed now.
Tim bit his lip and Kon’s mouth went dry.
He could hear how fast Tim’s heart was racing. He was still clothed, but he could see how turned on he was, too. It made his own dick twitch in anticipation. The pace of Tim’s breathing changed; it must’ve been a Batman abstinence breathing exercise. The thought made Kon smile.
Kon leaned closer. Tim tilted his head back. He kinda wanted to suck his neck. He met his gaze instead.
“What if I want to?” He asked, and ran a hand up his thigh.
The breathing exercises didn’t stand a chance.
“You should do what you want,” Tim said.
Kon did what he wanted and Tim bit the fabric of his shirt so he didn’t make a sound.
Afterwards, they both stretched out on the bed.
But they didn’t touch.
Now, enough time had passed for the horny haze to clear, and Kon realized exactly how bad of an idea this whole thing was. It was so bad. Tim was attractive. So what? Lots of the people he worked with were attractive. There were apps full of hot people he could potential hook up with. Why did he have to hook up with him? Their friendships was so important to him— to both of them— and he might’ve ruined everything just for a quick fuck.
Tim wasn’t talking. He could practically hear him overthinking himself to death, though. Kon glanced at him.
Tim sat up.
“That was fun,” he said. “We should do it again sometime.”
Kon sat up, too, but felt his heart sink.
This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.
Tim had feelings for him.
Of course he did.
It wasn’t his fault— Kon was the one who should feel bad. He should’ve shut this down as soon as Tim kissed him. He should’ve known Tim was the type who only did it with people he had romantic feelings for. That explained all the damn eye contact.
“I. . .” Kon started, but what was he supposed to say?
Tim studied him.
“Are you trying to let me down easy?”
“No,” Kon said, then internally kicked himself. “I mean— I just mean, I’m not… ready to date anyone… right now.”
He should’ve said forever. He didn’t want Tim to hold his breath.
He didn’t expect Tim to start crying or anything, but he expected more than simply raising his eyebrows.
“Who said anything about that?”
So, he was playing it cool.
“I didn’t think you were into casual sex.”
“You thought wrong,” Tim said and got out of bed. He pulled his pants on. Kon watched him, honestly getting a little turned on by the back of his neck, and the way his back moved through his shirt.
“So when you said we should do it again…”
“I meant as a friends-with-benefits thing. Not exclusive. Very casual.”
Kon was usually pretty good at seeing through the bullshit, but Tim was a tricky one to pin down.
“Have you done something like this before?”
“No. What was that white stuff?”
“You know what I mean,” Kon said, with a laugh. With the tension broken, Tim faced him.
“Look— I don’t want things to be weird between us,” Tim said, sounding responsible but completely evading the question. “We’re friends. We had sex. Friends have sex everyday. If you wanna mess around as friends again, I’d be into it. If not— this was a one time thing, and we can act like it never happened.”
It sounded like he was telling the truth.
Kon knew him so well though. Tim got into relationship after relationship— almost always with a friend— and lost himself in it. He prioritized what everyone else needed, at the expense of himself, who was actually also a person with needs and wants that mattered. He was always forgetting that.
Even if Tim sincerely just wanted to have some fun, Kon was worried.
If they started regularly sleeping together, Tim might fall in love with him.
Maybe that was something that an arrogant jerk thought, but he couldn’t help it. He thought it.
He was hot and obviously Tim thought so. They were best friends, they had the same sense of humor. He was amazing in bed, if his past partners’ breathless praise was to be believed. And Tim obviously used his Discord mutuals as a dating pool. It was frankly a matter of time.
He didn’t want to lead Tim on like that. He should find someone who would love him back, the way he deserved to be loved.
On the other hand… he kinda wanted Tim to fuck him. And if Tim wanted that too, maybe he needed to stop worrying and just enjoy.
Kon fell back on old habits: Acted stupid and cracked a joke.
“Promise you won’t fall in love with me?”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna be a problem.”
Kon proposed contracts so he could get that in writing. Tim ruthlessly whacked him with a pillow and told him he wasn’t benched, but still needed to run through Block C.
The common room was decorated by Greta, Cissie, and Cassie. Bart helped, as he loudly corrected anyone who said otherwise.
The overhead lights were off, replaced by blue galaxy projectors and the sunset lamp from Cissie’s room. They set up a food table over by the couches. The drink table was across the room, by the makeshift dance floor. There was a paper banner— with bubble letters by Greta— that said “Happy Birthday, La’gaan!” They blew up a bunch of balloons to cover the floor, and taped twisted streamers in swooping arches.
Most of the balloons were deflated and a few of the streamers were dangling, limply. This party was supposed to happen last Friday night, but an alien invasion by creepy little body snatchers almost led to World War III. So they postponed.
Tim led the whole team, not only to the evil queen at the heart of the spaceship, but to victory. He’s the one who realized that the aliens burned when they touched lemon juice. It was pretty cool when he coated his bo staff and fought his way through a throne room of guards. He even made Bart go back to the lemonade stand he stole from and leave two hundred bucks.
It was Sunday night, the world was safe, and the party was on.
Kon didn’t like La’gaan, but he loved an excuse to throw a party. If M’gann was on the guest list, he might reconsider, but she didn’t really come around anymore. He wasn’t even sure if she was on planet. It wasn’t like she and La’gaan were still together, anyway.
Tim, Jaime, and Kon stood around the drink table and watched Bart quickly mix some cocktails, pour some shots, and sample a bit of everything.
When he was done, he had a line up of mixed drinks and a tray of vodka shots.
“Let’s toast to— wait, I think some of these are space vodka and some are normal,” Bart said.
“Dude,” Jaime chided. Tim got to work, sniff-testing shot glasses and placing some on the table, some back on the tray.
“Wait, maybe the space vodka ones are on the left,” Bart said, thinking with a squint.
“One way to find out,” Kon said with a grin. He took a shot, then pounded the glass to the table with a disgusted look on his face. He coughed a little and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
Everyone laughed at him.
“Okay, you guys don’t even know. The space shit is like alien paint thinner.”
“It’s not that bad,” Bart teased.
“What do you know? You can’t keep a straight face for the regular stuff.”
Kon picked up a shot and handed it to Tim.
“None of you can.”
Tim never shied away from a challenge and Jaime grabbed a shot of his own.
“Salud,” Jaime clinked Tim’s glass and they both drank. Kon and Bart watched as judges, though Kon stared at one face more than the other.
Jaime’s jaw tightened just a bit, but the tension disappeared when he smiled. Tim’s annoying face was a perfect, unflinching mask.
Even when he put the glass down and said, “I think that was the space vodka.”
“Dude! No way,” Bart exclaimed.
Kon cracked up.
“You gave it to him,” Bart smacked his arm.
“You said the ones on the right were okay!”
Only Jaime seemed more concerned than amused.
“Oh, no,” he said, and put a hand on Tim’s back. “Let’s get you some food and water. Lots of water.”
“You should be thanking me. Now you’ll definitely have fun,” Kon teased.
“Shut up,” Tim said, with a smile. He let Jaime lead him away, so a part of him must’ve been a little freaked out after all. Kon listened in as they weaved their way through the party, with people dancing around to Cassie’s Party Playlist.
“What are the symptoms of alcohol poisoning?” Jaime asked.
“Confusion, vomiting, seizures, slow breathing, rapid eye movement…” Tim listed.
“Hey,” Bart said, loudly. Kon jumped.
“Let’s dance,” Bart said. He dragged him to the floor, moving like he was drunker than he thought he was. Bart lead them straight to Cissie, of course. Kon said hey to Cassie and Greta, but when he nodded at Cissie she rolled her eyes a little.
The next song was Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani, which made half the crowd scream along to the lyrics with renewed energy. He was a little surprised to see Greta dropping it low. She was normally pretty shy, but even shy people needed to cut loose. Cissie and Bart had their own thing, so he and Cassie danced for a few songs. That was always a good time. At least until he glanced at Cissie and caught a look of pure hatred. Cassie was bent over, too low to notice.
He’d fought with plenty of teammates before, but his thing was Cissie was so weird. She was always polite to his face, but sometimes she’d say something that sounded nice and he’d wonder if she hated him. He had no idea what he did to piss her off. It was like she hated him for no reason.
“I’ll get drinks,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Okay, bye,” Cissie said, sweetly.
My Type by Saweetie started playing so Cassie and Bart practically collided so they could dance together. Cissie twirled Greta.
Kon made his way back to the drink table. He had to sidestep to avoid a dance circle that had formed around Beast Boy who was breakdancing in the center as a koala. Kon watched a beat too long, and almost got zapped by a lightning bolt.
“Sorry, man,” said Virgil, aka Static, who was responsible for the zap. “We’re trying to make a panini.” Jackson held a sandwich and Courtney watched with amusement.
“Good luck,” Kon said and kept walking. It was always funny to see the creative ways people pushed their powers when they were wasted. As long as no one caught on fire.
He balanced the drinks in his arms, with a bit of TTK, and wondered how Tim was doing. It was a good thing they were still keeping things casual. If they were dating, he’d have to miss out on the party and make sure he was okay.
He listened until he could pick his voice out of the crowd, then used his enhanced vision to look.
“Do you drive a Beetle?” Tim asked then laughed at his own question. Jaime watched him with genuine amusement.
“That’s actually the first time I’ve heard that one. Normally everyone asks me about my favorite band. Which is Radiohead, by the way.”
Tim smiled like an idiot. “I love Radiohead.”
The next second, Kon was in front of them.
“Because you’re a creep, you’re a weirdo?”
Tim took a second to process that, blinking up at him. Jaime eyed the drinks in his arms wearily.
“Uh, I don’t know if he should—”
“No, I know,” Kon said, tightening his grip, “They’re for everyone else. Come on, you guys should come dance.”
Tim stood and immediately stumbled. Kon caught him with his TTK, but Jaime also grabbed his elbow and then slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Maybe some more water,” Jaime said and passed him his cup.
“He’ll be fine,” Kon said, momentarily distracted by the way Tim’s throat moved when he swallowed. He glanced at Jaime and then turned and lead the way back to the dance floor. Lovin On Me by Jack Harlow was blasting.
He’d never seen Tim this drunk before. Or maybe at some point he’d done space cocaine in the bathroom, because by the time Not My Fault by Renee Rap and Megan Thee Stallion started playing, Tim was non-verbal and twerking on the table. He had no idea he could dance like that and had to wonder if Tim had even known before tonight. Half the party cheered him on, and between verses different people climbed up to dance with him. At one point the birthday boy jumped up there with a trident, which Tim grabbed and dropped like he was working a pole.
He couldn’t decide if it was funny or hot but either way— It was a fantastic party. Even Jaime started enjoying himself, letting himself get pulled into a dance with Cissie and Bart. Greta’s shyness caught up to her. Tim grabbed her hand to dance with her and it looked like she was going to pass out. The party raged on. The couch briefly caught fire, but one of the Atlanteans put it out quickly.
Most people were going to crash there, even those who didn’t have their own assigned rooms.
Kon was pleasantly buzzed as he helped Tim walk to his room. His healing factor meant he sobered up pretty quickly, but he thought Tim would be better by now, too. He seemed worse than before, basically deadweight.
“You have to open your door,” Kon said. He felt a spike of irritation at the fact that Tim knew his room code— 5318008, which he hadn’t changed since he first arrived— but he had no idea what numbers Tim might’ve chosen or why. It probably wasn’t because they spelled something funny upside down on a calculator.
He had an arm around Tim, who buried his face into his neck like he was trying to hide from the light. Kon shook him.
“Dude, come on.”
Tim hugged him.
Kon held up his hands but Tim clung tighter with a grip like a viper.
In the end, it was easier to just take Tim to his room. He hadn’t made his bed, but drunk Tim had no problem with that. He dove face first into the sheets. Kon striped to his underwear and laid down next to him.
Tim tried to make a move, but he firmly pushed him away.
“What?” Tim asked, eyes glazed.
Kon propped his head up.
“There’s no way we’re doing anything. You’re like the drunkest person on Earth. Maybe the universe. I can’t believe one shot fucked you up this bad. Actually— it’s kinda my fault. Sorry.”
Tim exhaled. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He looked terrible, with a blank expression that made it seem like he was blackout drunk. Kon studied his face.
“Do you like me?” Kon asked.
Tim was out of it, but drunk people told the truth. Maybe he was being unfair, but he needed the truth. If the answer was yes, he’d end it. They wouldn’t hook up again and he’d give Tim time and space to move on, before things went back to normal between them.
Tim threw up.
Kon managed to jump out of the splash zone but his bed was a biohazard.
He walked him to Bart’s room, just around the corner. Tim’s brow was furrowed, but at least he could pretty much walk on his own. Kon still kept an arm around him to be safe.
He knocked, but it wasn’t Bart who answered.
“What do you want?” Cissie asked.
Great, he thought.
“Where’s Bart?”
“I don’t know,” she answered breezily. She closed the door.
“Hold on,” Kon stuck a hand out, jolting Tim who looked a little more awake. “Can Tim crash with you?”
He thought she liked Tim. They hung out, one on one. But she looked frustrated by Conner’s ask, like her dislike of him was just that overpowering.
“Why can’t he stay with you?”
“Because we’re locked out of his room and he got sick in mine.”
“Is he okay?” Cassie popped up over Cissie’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Tim croaked. “No,” Kon said, giving Cassie a meaningful look. He was glad he could talk to someone who wasn’t mentally willing him to fly away.
“Why is he wearing your clothes?”
“He was really, really sick.”
Cissie wrinkled her nose, while Cassie looked ready to hug him.
“Aw, poor Tim. Come in— the bed is big enough for four.”
“Is it?” Cissie asked, quietly.
Kon looked at her for a beat before turning back to Cass. “It’s cool. I’ll just find a couch. But he could use a bed.”
“No, I’m good now,” Tim said with his eyes closed. Each breath seemed like a chore. “Leave ‘em alone.”
“It’s fine,” Cissie said, quickly. “He can stay here. We’ll take care of him.”
“Great.”
“You owe us one, Conner.”
She sounded friendly, but he wasn’t falling for it. Cissie King-Jones aimed to collect.