The 5:51 From Providence

I’m waiting for you at the station. Maybe you missed the train. Or maybe you’re ghosting me.

Then, there you are. You’re tired and grimy, but you pull me into your arms. Bruce, you whisper as you kiss my ear. I missed you.

Me, too, I whisper back.

We walk to my 2014 Nissan.

“Not taking the work car?” you joke.

I smile at the thought of driving around the city with the Son of God in the Batmobile. It would be fun, but probably too risky. It’s barely street legal, and neither one of us needs the attention.

---

JC Watches Bruce

I love watching you sleep, until the nightmare hits. Your eyes are open, but I know that all you can see is that night. You’ve described it to me. The end of your childhood. I pull you in closer, stroking your hair, trying to soothe you. I know it has to run its course, until I can feel your body relax into dreamless sleep again.

We are both haunted by the trauma of violence and parental abandonment. I like to think that there’s more to us than our wounds, but at least for now, our wounds are what define us.

---

Dick Grayson At Wayne Manor

It looks like Bruce has had a rough night. His new boyfriend seems to be looking after him, though, which is good. It’s clear that they’re oblivious to what day it is. Alfred has set up a table with tea and croissants in the morning room, and shepherds them into it.  It takes them a minute to the see the tree, spangled silver up to the cathedral ceiling. They look at each other. “Happy Birthday,” Bruce says, at the same time his guy says, “Merry Christmas.” Then they look embarrassed, and blurt out simultaneously “I didn’t get you anything.”