Partners in solving crime (amongst other atrocities)

Jon ~ it's a five-year anniversary

Five years. 1825 days since he had met Damian. Tomorrow was the fifth year, but he wasn't counting. Jonathan Kent was sitting on his bed, his back pressed against the wall, eyes staring at the laptop on his lap blankly. He had an essay due tomorrow, but it wasn't a priority.

An anniversary, though... that could be a potential priority.

Anniversary, Jon mouthed. It sounded like they were married, like they were linked romantically. Jon felt the urge to laugh. They were linked, alright, but it was more like a death link. If something happened to Damian, Jon was sure he could feel it as well. But maybe that was just because they had been friends for so long.

Best friends, he corrected himself. It was a... best-friendiversary. A... bestieversary? Jon needed to come up with a better name than that.

He moved the laptop from his lap and took his phone from his jacket pocket. He stared at his lockscreen. It was a picture he had taken the day he'd gotten his first phone. The first picture in his camera roll: Jon smiling at the camera and Damian scowling at it, with a smile tugging at his frown.

It had been raining, and Robin and Superboy had been up on the roof of the tallest building in Metropolis. Jon was trying a vegetarian alternative for shawarmas, and Damian was eating cheap fries they had bought at the corner store a few blocks from there. Their feet were dangling from the edge, and Jon took the opportunity to show Damian his flashy new phone.

"Dami, Look at this!" He flashed the screen in his face. "Isn't it cool?"

Damian waved him off. "It's... cool," he said. After a stern pause, he added, "What are you going to do with it? It's not like it'll be any useful to you."

Jon gaped at him. "What do you mean 'what are you going to do with it?' I'm going to look awesome with it! Here, tell me how I look." He placed the phone in his ear, pretending to be in a call.

Damian scoffed. "You look ridiculous."

"I look cool! You wanna know what else is cool?"

"Anything not related to you is cool."

Jon rolled his eyes. "You're related to me. Does this make you not cool?"

"I'm not related to yo- Agh! What are you doing?!" Jon had grabbed the rim of Damian's cape and pulled him into the camera shot. It had captured the exact moment in which Damian's scowl faltered, and Jon's smile was indistinguishable.

A smile played at Jon's lip, and for a split second, he wanted to fly over to Damian's. They had been friends for so long, it wouldn't be weird if he simply showed up. Alfred would probably open the door for him and Damian would probably be training. He could stroll over to the kitchen and make marshmallow sandwiches, those that Damian secretly loved. He could bust in the training area and sit on his phone while Damian kicked stuff. He could practice his hand-in-hand combat, he was lousy at that...

"Mom!" He yelled, still sitting on his bed. "I'm just going to— I'm going over to Damian's!"

But Lois's answer was muffled within Jon's excitement. He was already flying out the window.

~

Jon arrived at the Wayne manor, which, he had to admit, was a crazy idea to begin with. He had just come back from school, and was already aching to see Damian? He wanted to laugh with self-pity. He had to admit it was slightly pathetic.

He was standing at the door now, his gaze on his worn-out sneakers. He could always turn around. He had an essay anyways....

The door flung open. "Jon!" Damian stood at the door frame. Sweat was running down his neck and he was wearing his training outfit: a black undershirt and a red shirt over it. Jon wondered how many of those he had. "What are you doing here? I'm just training—"

"Training. Yeah. I know," Jon said. "I kinda need help with something." He stopped before he said any more stupidities. Help with something? The only thing he needed help with were his conversation skills. Over the years, they seemed to deterior so much he now stuttered and tripped over his words every time he was talking to Damian.

Just nerves, he thought.

Nerves? Nerves from what?

Nerves from... stuff. Nothing relevant.

Damian held the door open for him and smiled. "Come on in, then. I can help you."