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The library was always empty at this time of the day. The softly falling leaves outside cast flickering shadows across the dark wood floors, a few stray leaves sweeping in through the tall open windows.
The bright blue sky and crisp autumn wind heralded the coming of winter, but here, within the library, it was as warm and cozy as Jason remembered it.
Jason sat snug in the armchair – his armchair – which was so soft he was practically sinking into its pillows. He had always loved this chair; regardless of his feelings towards Bruce now, that would never change.
He was careful as he read his book, only halfway through as he opened the dog-ear creases and ran his thumb over each small sidenote.
This chair was simply the best chair to read a good book in for three hours straight.
“Back straight, Jason.”
If not for the old man and his damned nagging.
Jason staunchly ignored him, and flipped to the next page.
“You need to watch your posture, Jay. It’s not good for your health.”
Since when did you care for my health? Jason nearly snarked back, and looked up.
Bruce was watching him carefully from his seat at the library table, one of the many in his large library. His thin-rimmed glasses did nothing to hide the creases around his eyes that hadn’t always been there, the lines of age so different from how Jason pictured him in his memories.
The gray of his eyes were always so gentle, and this time was no different.
It kind of made Jason want to scream.
Instead, he locked eyes with the old man, and slowly, deliberately, sunk down further into the armchair. Then flipped another page, for good measure.
Bruce sighed, taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose.
“Jason–”
He was saved from the lecture by the timely interruption of a knock on the door. They both turned simultaneously as Clark opened the door with a creak.
Immediately, he was assaulted by the smell of hot chocolate, the exact same kind Alfred would always brew.
Clark grinned, holding up two mugs. “Chocolate, anyone?”
“Clark, it’s extremely unsafe to bring liquid into a library–”
Jason sat up quickly and made grabby hands. “Gimme.”
Clark came over and set the mug on the coffee table beside him, before turning back to Bruce with a small smile. “You sure?”
Then his dads – yuck – did that weird eye-contact thing where they spoke telepathically like crazy people. Like crazy people. Like crazy people. Important things must be repeated thrice.
Jason immediately tried to make himself invisible. There was no way in hell he was leaving and giving up this perfectly wonderful chair, but he so did not want to be there while they did their embarrassing, grown-up eye-sex or whatever.
Finally, seeming to have lost the unspoken battle, Bruce let out another sigh. “Fine.”
Clark placed the mug next to the papers of whatever it was Bruce was working on, before shuffling awkwardly in place.
Both Bruce and Jason raised an eyebrow. Clearly, the boy scout wasn’t just here for a chocolate delivery.
“So,” Clark said, clearing his throat in an obvious attempt to stall for time. “Um, say, well…”
Bruce gave him a flat look. “Well?”
Clark paused. “What?”
“You said, ‘say well.’ Well?”
The perfect arch of Bruce’s eyebrow should be studied by psychologists for years to come, with just how good it was at conveying the extremely complicated emotion of: What.
Clark flushed, and he looked away, his gaze trying to settle on anything but Bruce.
Man, this is kind of pathetic, Jason thought, taking a loud sip from his cocoa.
“Well,” Clark began, “I was wondering, if you, perhaps– whatdoyouthinkaboutgettingmarried.”
Jason nearly spat out his hot chocolate. Bruce’s eyebrow, impossibly, climbed higher.
“I mean,” Clark said, maneuvering to a quick recovery, “What do you think about legally eating the rich by getting tax breaks?”
“Hell yeah,” Jason called, loudly, but neither of them paid him any mind.
“I am the rich,” Bruce replied coolly.
“Boo,” said Jason.
Bruce glared at him from the corner of his eyes before turning back to Clark.
“In any case, you already do that every night.”
“I did NOT need to know that!” Jason yelped, and immediately covered his ears, scarred for life.
The sly grin on Bruce’s face told him exactly how much he knew he was messing with him.
Jason hated it. He also uncovered his ears a little bit.
Clark coughed, his face red, and for the third time – or fourth, or fifth, honestly, Jason’s losing track, but he’ll keep it at third because “third time’s the charm” – tried again.
“Does becoming legally bound to another person happen to be in your future contingency plans?”
Now, for the first time since this weird conversation from hell started, Jason saw the telltale flush of red blooming on Bruce’s neck.
“Are you proposing to me, Kent?” His voice was completely steady, belying the embarrassment that was surely more obvious to the alien than ever before.
(They had all heard enough about Bruce’s heartbeat it was practically a meme around here. Sweet, in that stalker-ish way. But still a meme.)
Clark smiled sheepishly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “Well, I’m running the idea by you to see if you’d be agreeable to it, to be exact.”
Bruce placed his pen down with a loud clack.
“Kal, stop dancing around the question and just ask me directly.” His voice was all Batman, commanding and authoritative and so annoying.
Clark beamed. Almost quite literally. His face lit up like a Christmas tree, his eyes brightening with joy, his smile wide and bright in delight.
“Are you open to getting proposed to in, say, a few weeks? December, if you need that detail, but January works too.”
Bruce did not smile so much as the corners of his lips turned upwards, the lines around his eyes creasing with the not-smile.
“Yes, Clark, I am.”
Then his smile fell, and his expression went back to business-as-usual. “About time you asked. I’ve been dropping hints everywhere.”
Jason, who had uncovered his ears to take another sip of hot choco, very nearly spat it out for the second time that day.
Clark blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You… have? But where?”
Bruce stood up and reached into the briefcase beside him. With a loud thud, he pulled out a stack of papers.
“The wedding magazines on every table in the Manor and your apartment,” he began to list, slapping down magazines onto the table.
“The article about the different designs and styles of rings. Driving by the boutique whenever I picked you up. Their display was always wedding-themed, didn’t you notice?”
He slapped down a few more magazines and picture cut-outs. “The daily Wordle answers. The celebrity beat Perry sent you to last month.”
Clark groaned. “That was you?”
Bruce smirked, placing down the final paper. “And, yesterday, making you overhear Ollie and Dinah at the Watchtower.”
Clark blushed, going red from head to toe. “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh.’”
They stared at each other for a moment, doing that mind-reading eye-telepathy thing again.
Finally, Clark remarked, “That seems like an unnecessarily complicated amount of work for something you could have just told me.”
Jason snorted. Had he met his old man? “Unnecessarily complicated” was the name of his game.
“Well,” Bruce looked bashful, “True. But I wanted to make sure.”
Clark’s gaze softened, and he took Bruce’s hands in his. “I am.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for another minute, before Jason decided enough was enough and coughed. Loudly.
Clark kissed the knuckles of Bruce's hand, and let go. “So, any special requests for your proposal, dear?"
Bruce smirked, went through the stack of papers on the table, and handed Clark a list. A list. Jesus, the old man really was in love.
"No capes. No co-workers. Preferably not public, but a rooftop restaurant would work fine if need be. Dinner, but I can work with mornings before breakfast or breakfast in bed. A minimum of three contingency plans in case of Category A to J interruptions."
Clark, impossibly, simply nodded to all the demands as if it was just another list of groceries. Like a crazy person.
“I’m only doing A to E, and only types one through fifty-nine.”
Bruce crossed his arms and glared. “Fine.”
Jason suppressed a snort. Then again, only crazy people could deal with Bruce.
Clark took the list, and gave Bruce a quick peck on the cheek. "Can I start planning for your proposal now?”
Bruce’s ears pinked, and he shrugged in an act of nonchalance. “Yes. You're already two weeks behind schedule.”
Clark grinned. “Nice. Love you!” He gave Bruce another kiss, this time on the lips, then waved at Jason, before speeding away in a blur of white and blue.
Jason watched as his old man gently touched the place where Clark had kissed him, before replying softly, “Love you too.”
Jason let him digest what just happened for a few more moments, before speaking out very, very loudly.
“Un-fucking-believable. What did I just witness.”
“Language,” Bruce replied automatically.
“Did Clark just propose to you?”
“No, he’s just planning to,” Bruce said, his voice still absentminded and distant.
“He even mentioned contingency plans,” Jason emphasized. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing a partner’s ever done for you.”
The soft look in Bruce’s eyes returned. “Yes. It is.”
Jason took a long, loud gulp from his hot chocolate, which was now almost completely gone. “Damn, old man, you’re getting laid.”
Bruce snorted, shaking off the dazed look on his face and sitting back down. “I don’t know if this is news to you, Jay, but I’ve been “getting laid” for a while now.”
Jason scrunched his face in disgust. “Ugh, don’t tell me that.”
Bruce’s eyes twinkled with hidden laughter, in a look so familiar it nearly sent Jason into the past. “Don’t dish what you can’t handle, son.”
Son.
This damn sap.
“Why did he have to ask you while I was here, though?” He complained. “Did the famous Superman forget I was here or something? That’s a red flag, B.” The old habit of defending Bruce from weird perverts reared its ugly head.
Jason covered his cough and settled back into his cozy armchair, too late to take back his words.
“He didn’t forget you were there, Jay,” Bruce replied, amused. “He was likely psyching himself up the whole day just to ask that question. If he didn’t ask right then, he’d probably wait another six months to work up the nerve again.”
Jason paused. “Did. Did you just say six months.”
”Mmh.”
”You’ve been dropping him hints. For six months.”
Bruce flipped open a page he’d been working on and took a sip from his hot chocolate. “Mhm.”
“Damn,” Jason said, a grin forming on his face. “That’s pathetic.”
Bruce nearly spat out his cocoa. Just desserts.
“Sweet,” Jason added, “But pathetic.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Bruce grumbled. “Go back to reading.”
The grin never faded from Jason’s face, even after he opened his book again and started to read.
Here, with the book Bruce had gifted him long ago, with his old handwritten notes; here, on the armchair where he once fell asleep, and Bruce draped a blanket over him; here, in the armchair where he and Bruce once sat, reading stories out loud to each other.
Here, in the armchair where he just witnessed perhaps one of the happiest moments of his dad’s life.
The cold smell of autumn intermingled with the scent of books, the old pages and hardbound leather filling the library with the scent of home. The soft rustle of pages flipping and the scratch of an ink pen writing was a familiar comfort that could almost lull Jason to sleep.
Surrounded by the comfort of his old home, in a house filled with new family, Jason flipped to the next page.