The Poetry in Broken Glass || Timkon

The poetry in broken glass (complete)

Kon is sure that it started with the library. The dusty library in the southside of Gotham. Everyone knew of it, they were all aware that it was there. But the place was abandoned, and it looked so peaceful. It wasn't a very smart hideout for anything. It was a bit beyond the city limits, an unusual spot for a place that once had been open to the public, but everyone knew it belonged to Gotham.

Then, it was a place filled with lights and books, it felt welcoming, even as time passed and the lights dimmed. The first time Kon had been there, he had written his name over the dust of a shelf, using his finger. Maybe someone would remember that. That was before the library had become such a usual place for them.

He doesn't know what brought it up. Why Tim had asked Kon to meet him there. At the library now with plants gone haywire, all around the gates and the rim of the windows. But Kon showed up that day, and he waited for Tim, because Tim was late. It was funny, because Gotham was closer to the place than Metropolis was.

Tim hadn't shown up yet, and Kon went through the books that remained in the library, mostly dictionaries and fictional novels. Kon wondered why these hadn't been taken to the newest places, they were in a good overall state, if not covered in dust.

The window that Tim had come through, the same one that Kon had flown in from, was large. It had a majestic look from the outside, and it would give Kon the vibe of an abandoned castle. With chipped paint that once must have been white, now looking like a cream tone with a sepia overline, and glass creaked in such a crafted manner, you'd think the vines crawling their way in were invited.

Kon realized he could just have... flown out, gone looking for Tim. He could have even used his super-hearing, to try and place where he was at. But Tim must have had his own reason, for both being late and asking to meet here, of all the dark places in Gotham. Of all rooftops and alleys, Tim had chosen the empty library with vines adorning the windows. Besides, the library was much more interesting than scrolling through the streets of Gotham.

To this day, Kon doesn't know why Tim had asked him to meet there.

It had become a small... tradition, per se. Tim and Kon would crawl their way into the library, then Kon would write his name, using his finger, right beside or below the previous version of it. Then they would take off their masks, capes, everything that seemed extra for such a nice place like that one. There was this spot they'd go to, in the second floor of such, even though the place itself seemed like it couldn't hold any longer. It was a small room, an empty one, with a window that stretched through the longest wall of such, the same little vines by the broken window crawling their way in. Kon couldn't explain it, but there, in that small room that seemed to now hold so many secrets, they were different. They weren't Superboy and Robin, two young heroes whose only thing to have in common seemed to be each day one step closer to becoming everyone they don't want to be. They weren't Tim Drake and Conner Kent, caskets for an identity they didn't seem to have anymore. The boys in the far end of the library, the ones who'd occasionally bring packets of chips, followed with two bottles of whatever thing in the confectionery store was close, were just that. Boys. Who were high school students and friends, and superheroes in the plain light of day.

They'd never stay for long, as one would get bored eventually. Or tired, or simply got the craving of going somewhere else. Then both would leave, only to come back a few days later.

This library, a place so physically deteriorated and with more dust than it had books, had become a special place for them. Both Tim and Kon separately. Once, Kon had gone to the place. It was close to midnight. Hey doesn't remember why, just that he was... angry. Or sad. He had just wanted to feel the peace and... life, the small rise of mood every time he entered the library by the broken window. He had taken a flashlight with him, and as dark as it was, he wasn't scared. He also hadn't told Tim that he'd be there. Why would he anyways? Tim was Tim and Kon was Kon. The library was just where they hung out, it wasn't their sacred place or anything. So you can understand the shock that Kon had felt when he found Tim curled up into a ball, in the same spot they'd always be at, with his head buried into his knees. Tim's own flashlight was facing upwards, lighting up the room, even dimly. Kon could see the cracks on the ceiling. Then he sat on the opposite corner of the room, rested his head against the wall. He wasn't sad anymore, nor angry. He was just tired.
The next morning, they had woken up, each in their perspective corners. They hadn't talked about it.