Chapter Text
Moving had been stressful.
Your mess wasn’t for show— all of the stuff you had laying around was stuff you really did need, pondering on what to take and what to throw out. When the anxiety over what to take didn’t fade and your reluctance over moving grew, Jonathan swiftly swooped in and offered to pay the rent of your apartment for another month while you sorted what you’d throw out. It was cheap enough to be no more than a quarter of his weekly pay.
You, of course, reassured him you’d pay him back one day.
You took the mere essentials; your camera, your flimsy laptop, stuff like that which you needed for either work or entertainment. The guest bedroom in Jonathan’s apartment wasn’t anything too crazy but it was certainly larger than your bedroom back home.
More importantly, it was clean and modern. The bed actually fit more than a singular person.
It contained a window with an incredible view, more evidence Jonathan was paid handsomely. A small closet and 2 bedside tables, covered in what seemed to be the sort of stuff you’d find in a hotel room. Did he investigate what a guest bedroom held before you came here?
Not sure what I’ll need a notebook for. You giggle, picking it up before placing it back on the table and sitting on the bed. Jonathan patiently waited outside, forgetting that thanks to all the comfort until he audibly cleared his throat. You quickly did what you came in here to do— get changed, since Jonathan was going to take you to a restaurant, a celebratory dinner for becoming new roommates.
Jonathan hadn’t only left a flimsy notebook and some arranged towels. Displayed on the edge of the bed and neatly folded was a dress, your eyes widening at the sight of it before storming torwards the door.
“I’m not taking that, Jonathan.” You say straightforward, ashamed he was spending so much on you. “I told you, I had clothes to wear.”
“I checked through your suitcase while you were cleaning up,” he says dismissively, staring absentmindedly at nothing, as if this situation was beyond him. Curse him and his handsomely smug face. “There’s nothing you could wear to the restaurant without being turned into a laughing stock.”
“That’s not nice.”
At that he turns around, giving you a childish smile. “You know it’s true. As much as I adore this independent act of yours, I’d much prefer seeing you in that dress. I picked it out for you. It’s nothing crazy expensive if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
You take a whiff of his cologne, subtle but sharp at the same time, and your eyes meet his. It’s suddenly all the more difficult to protest him any further, your cheeks reddening.
“Just change.”
No point protesting it any further. You turn around and close the door again, picking up the dress and staring at it it for a few seconds. It was beyond gorgeous and classy despite it being allegedly ‘not expensive’. Goodness knows what Jonathan considers cheap.
After trying it on, any hesitation vanishes in an instant. You hadn’t felt this pretty in ages, the ragged clothes you wore not doing you any favors in term of self confidence. Using what little you had brought along, you quickly did your hair and gave yourself a few minutes to act composed and normal.
Jonathan seemingly loses his patience because after 15 minutes he invites himself in, the man eyeing you down head to toe with a momentary smile.
“You look beautiful. I chose well, didn’t I?”
“You really did,” he doesn’t expect the praise, freezing as you walked towards him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Jon.” When you reach for a hug he’s even more stiff, staying still as you wrap your arms around him and gently push the side of your face against his upper chest. Jonathan readjust his glasses and pats your back, trying his best not to look at the features the dress showed off.
“I prepared a quick drink for the both of us before we leave.”
His words make you pull back in confusion, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“A.. toast.” He says it as if he’s unsure, before flashing with confidence. “Obviously. It’s common practice to have a toast before going to a fancy restaurant. “Come along. The quicker we have it, the faster we get to the restaurant.”
You’re still confused but blame your lack of knowledge. What the hell did you know about what people did before going to fancy Gotham restaurants? Jonathan was the expert here, not you.
Two wine glasses are settled on the diner, Jonathan grabbing his first and holding it up, an invitation to hurry and grab yours as well. You oblige and grab the glass, instinctively leaning in and sniffing it— a habit you developed after living where you’ve lived for so long. There’s a pungent chemical smell that is unlike wine, making you wince and scowl. Jonathan notices your hesitation and drinks his own glass as if it’s nothing.
He knew this was wrong. He knew it was sick. He cherished you dearly— he truly did, and he’d never lay a single finger on you. But his mind was warped with curiosity of how you’d react to a small dose of his chemicals. There was something he was scheming, too. It wasn’t being done out of curiosity alone.
“You don’t have to drink it.” He says with a mildly sad tone, which does the opposite effect of discouraging you. Forcing down the reluctance and disgust at the unusual chemical smell, you gulp the wine down, the taste normal but slightly chemical.
“What’s with the chemical taste?” You furrow your eyebrows and put the glass down, shaking your head. “Does wine always taste like that?”
“Just this wine,” he reassures, placing a hand on your shoulder and kissing the top of your head. “Thank you for drinking it.”
Any fear of what you just drank vanishes, the man grabbing your hand and leading you away. It felt reassuring to be treated this way, like a human worthy of love. His grip was far too tight for your liking, but you spoke nothing of it.
As the two of you entered his car and made your way to the restaurant, Jonathan struck up an intriguing question.
“Why’d you choose Gotham?” When your face asks for more clarification, he adds on. “There’s cities like Central City and Metropolis out there that are heaps better than Gotham, but you fixated on Gotham as a child.” There was an unusual feeling bubbling up inside you ever since you left the apartment, like a small knot in your stomach. The question distracted you from the growing discomfort.
“Before you came along, I spent most of my time in the run down library of the school. Most of the books were ancient; but they stocked up on newspapers from Gotham biweekly. I’d seen news about Thomas Wayne and his plan to make the city beautiful and prosperous. It felt like the sort of city for people like us.. but if I could go back in time, I’d undoubtedly choose Central City.” You laugh nervously, emitting regret for moving into this hellhole in the first place.
Jonathan hums. “You were simply given a bad set of cards. Opportunities here are endless, and I can help you achieve your full potential. You’re capable of many things.”
“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow and smile. “Like what?”
“Assisting me in my plan.”
When you ask for what that means, he doesn’t answer, simply keeping his eyes glued on the street with a smile that matched yours. The two of you arrive to the restaurant after 20 minutes of driving, thankful it wasn’t anything insane looking from the outside. No red carpet or employee to take the car into some bougee parking space.
You find the knot in your stomach growing by the second, though it’s mild enough for you to ignore it with ease. Jonathan was wearing a casual but visibly expensive suit, and you realize his usual appearance just constantly reeks sophisticated regardless of where he’s going.
Though the place lacks a fancy red carpet, it’s made up by the lobby— decked out in fancy decorations and paintings, the people around you of a different caliber with a lifestyle you could never even dream of. They could buy your life entirely with ease.
“Are you sure this isn’t crazy expensive?” You ask Jonathan nervously as he speaks to the lady checking the two of you in.
“You nervous?” He teases, which quickly shuts you up. The restaurant itself has dim lighting and a mob-like theme, with quiet jazz music playing over the already very quiet guests. The walls are velvetty red with gold-colored details and decorations, with each table incredibly spaced out, a candle placed in the middle of each.
It was by all means romantic, which made you question if the two of you were going to really be nothing more than mere roommates.
The waitress sits the two of you down across from each other, and you stall a moment to take in the ambience before snapping back to reality at the waitress’s words. In a matter of a second you’d seemingly lost yourself; something that never happened to you. You had a keen eye and a sharp mind, the reason you lived in the Narrows for so long without dying. The sound in the building seemed quiet and loud all at once.
“I ordered a beverage for you.” Jonathan states simply, disregarding the evident disassociation.
“Oh— uh, thank you.”
Taking the free wine that was already on the table, he pours himself a drink, swirling the glass in his hand and watching the liquid spin. “So,” he inquires, “I’ve been thinking a lot about getting a second job. My professor job is quite unstable because my peers can’t stand the fact I am heaps more talented than they are.”
Jonathan rants about that topic, though you find your inner discomfort increasing far too much to pay any attention to what he was saying. The food arrives in less than 10 minutes, and you stare at it as the sounds around you turn into mere muffled echoes. Rushingly and in hopes it would fix your nausea, you grabbed a small piece of the steak you’d been served, scarfing it down quickly.
Jonathan doesn’t say anything. It’s almost eery how quiet and calm he is as he watches you lose your mind, your forehead trickled in sweat and your hands trembling. The moment you gulp down the steak the nausea becomes uncontrollable, gripping your stomach in pain and getting a headache sharp enough to make you yelp.
At that Jonathan finally reacts, placing his hands on the table to lean in slightly. He says your name slowly. “You okay? What are you feeling?”
“Naus—“ you gag, placing the palm of your hand on top of your lips. Jonathan’s calm demeanor seemingly switches, calling a waiter over and daunting a furious face.
“Your food made her downright sick! Look at her, she wants to vomit.” Jonathan scolds the panicked waiter, demanding a refund. He’s quiet enough not to cause a major scene, but you could tell heads were turning. The anxiety of it all worsens the situation, and you feel as if your head was reeling.
It doesn’t take long for Jonathan to receive his refund; the staff hardly wanted to deal with a lawsuit, it was evident you were indeed sick. Despite that, Jonathan packed his food to-go, but it was a detail that was overshadowed by the overwhelming anxiety and nausea you were feeling.
It slightly diminishes when you leave the restaurant and get back into his car. You’re still trembling but you can at least hear Jonathan normally now, the man contrasting his attitude earlier and leaning in to check your vitals and tempature. His pale hand places itself on your forehead, his face inches away from yours.
“How frail.” He says with a monotone expression and tone. “How did you survive in the streets for so long?”
“I.. I don’t think the food made me sick, I only ate one—“
He shushes you quietly, seemingly trying to focus on feeling your temperature. You don’t repeat your previous statement or try to push it.
The man pushes himself off after a few seconds and sighs. “What else could’ve made you sick? Perhaps your body is finally reacting to all the stress you’ve put it through. It's a good thing you’re with me. And we got free food, too.”
“Right.” You hiss in pain and grab your head. “What could they have put in that steak to give me this headache?” You sneakily point out how odd it is that he’s willing to eat food that allegedly made you sick.
“Some nasty chemicals, I’m sure.” He says it like it’s a joke, making you nervously laugh. Nothing seemed funny right now. “Don’t be such a downer. I’ll get you fixed up in a matter of seconds, but I need you to tell me what you feel.”
You do exactly that as he drives the two of you home. He doesn’t reply— only occasional hums or a small question, but he was mostly just letting you explain everything. His eyes are glued to the street but you can feel him staring at you through his peripheral vision. You’re unsure of what you feel is distress or enjoyment from knowing he’s watching you.
The unusual feelings inside you don’t falter and worsen once you reach his apartment complex, the elevator up nearly making you vomit for the nine hundredth time.
“Sit on the couch and rest, I’ll get you some medication.”
“It’s—“ you grab a fistful of your shirt, wanting to grip your heart. “It’s getting worse, Jon. It feels like someone’s squeezing my heart. My head hurts.”
At that he makes his way towards you with a bottle of pills and a water bottle, slightly puckering his lips in faux pity as he takes a seat next to you. He can tell your body is warmer than usual, almost instinctively scooting closer to his much colder one to try and relieve the warmth. He doesn’t protest.
He hands you 2 of the pills, making you place them on your tongue before signaling to open your mouth. Reluctantly, you do.
“ Really fragile.” He repeats his statement from earlier, one you’re not too fond of. He gives you the water himself, making sure to be careful so he wouldn’t accidentally pour your face with water or drown you. “If it doesn’t get any better, I might have to take you to the hospital. That’ll be expensive.” The last few words are quiet, immediately making you feel pity.
“I’ll heal fast.” You reassure him and gulp the pills down, shaking your head slightly. “Don’t waste any more money on me. I’m sorry for being a nuisance on my first day here; it’s humiliating.”
Jonathan shrugs his shoulders and looks away. “Certainly isn’t pleasing.”
“I’m sorry, seriously.” You sit up properly, raising your voice which was already breaking by now. You hated being a bother and you were making Jonathan’s life impossibly difficult so soon already. Imagine the shame if he pays your expensive medical bills?
His annoyed act suddenly vanishes, breaking into a wide smirk before using his pale hands to brush away the hair on your face. “I’m only messing with you. You’re not a bother yet. Thanks to your nauseous fiasco, I’ve got food for tomorrow.”
“Should you be eating that?” you question, now believing the food really was the cause of your illness despite only eating less than a full bite. “You’re gonna get sick. And then we’ll both be ill.”
The man scoffs, leaning back against the couch. “My immune system is more advanced than anything you’ve ever seen, darling. When you’re in the business I’m in, your body has to tolerate a lot of things.” He shows off his endurance, practically oozing in ego. You giggle.
“You mentioned you were just a psychology professor. How does that entail work that reinforces your immune system?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
He says it with full seriousness but you brush it off as a joke, rolling your eyes teasingly before lifting your knees to hug them, losing yourself in thought before feeling the urge to vocalize them. Jonathan was a quiet man and hardly felt the need to continue conversations, but you desperately wanted to speak with him. Even if it was about something as stupid as your thoughts.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“What you said earlier,” you clarify. “How my body is finally reacting to all the stress. I think It’s finally understanding I don’t have to live in fear and discomfort anymore. It’s letting go of all the misfortune I’ve went through these past few years.”
How wrong you are. Jonathan wants to say, but he keeps quiet. He does feel oddly prideful right now. Hearing you sound so eternally grateful.
“I’ve gone through hell and back, but I can finally settle down a bit and just… relax. Thank you, Jon. Really.”
“You’ve thanked me a million times.” He leers and leans closer towards you. “You went above and beyond for me when I was a weak little boy. I’d do anything for you, even if it means keeping you locked and tight. Safe from everything out there.”
The tension makes the metaphor fly over your head, focusing more on the crystal blue color of his eyes— the way the glasses hide the true beauty of them. You can feel yourself attempt to gulp down your nerves to no avail.
He’s so close.
His eyes flash towards your lips, and panic sets in; you couldn’t do that again, not right now. You instinctively reach for him and wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly as your head rested on the crook of his shoulder. A distraction from his attempt at kissing you. He’s shocked for a moment and his eyes stay frozen in the air before giving in and resting them on your back, one of them rubbing circles on your shoulder.
“You’re so cold.” You point out.
“And you’re warm.” He affirms quietly, leaning his head back to place a kiss on your forehead. His lips lack any sort of dryness, only making you wonder what they felt on yours. “It’s quite nice. The warmth.”
He’s so quiet and gentle now. He’s void of any cockiness or teasing. The urge to protect and comfort that you felt when you were a kid comes back at full force as you hug him, leaning back to place your hand on his chest. You can feel his heart beating.
“Now, that’s nice.” He sighs at the feeling. “You’re burning up. I can feel the warmth of your hand through the shirt.”
“It’ll go away.” You reassure him, meeting your gaze with his once more. “How long has it been since you’ve been hugged? You seem stiff.”
He ponders at your words and doesn’t bother acting offended, seemingly thinking about it. “A while. More than a few years. You’re the only one I can stand hugging me. Childhood warmed me up to them.”
Now more than ever he seems like the Jonathan you knew. As if all the darkness in his eyes had vanished, replaced with unfiltered joy and comfort. He didn’t seem so tense anymore and his guard wasn’t up. The attitude change helps you realize just how much Jonathan has changed; and that’s something you needed to get used to.
“It makes me a little sad how we’ve both changed.” You say quietly, glancing away and staring at everything but his eyes. You were afraid he’d judge you and call you childish for complaining about an inevitable thing. Time comes with change. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, which only grows your worries.
“Change is depressing.” An internal sigh of relief. “But we have to adapt to live. I’m alive because I adapted. Had I not adapted my mind and killed those kids, I’d be multiple feet in the ground right now.”
The mention of the murders makes your stomach coil. It wasn’t a topic you enjoyed discussing, much less think about. He notices your discomfort and raises an eyebrow, as if pushing you to say something about the matter.
“Don’t you feel a little guilty? I stayed up multiple nights for years thinking about it. Even if it was deserved.”
“Likewise, it was deserved.” He echoes your statement back, though much firmer and slightly louder. “Would you have preferred I died or kept living my life in fear? You have no idea what I felt when they were doing what they did to me. Treated like a Scarecrow.”
“Then tell me . Is it so bad that I feel a little remorse? Help me understand why the situation isn’t as insane as it actually is.”
Jonathan’s lips are a straight line now, looking at you eye to eye as if he was analyzing your soul and deciding what was right. His regular gaze is back. Those cold eyes of his.
“I felt fearful.” He admits, though he doesn’t sound upset or scared at the memories he was reminiscing. “Constantly scared. My home life wasn’t a distraction for the torment and you know that.” He says it like you’re stupid, that you no longer understand what he went through. Guilt eats you up now. “I’ve mastered fear— is it so bad I lack remorse for those bastards?”
There was no point arguing about your wildly different takes on empathy and murder. You shake your head and give up, looking down at your lap. His thin finger tilts your head back up, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“You’ll understand me eventually. I’m not the Jonathan you knew back then and that’s okay.”
You nod your head in agreement, the anxious feeling inside your body slowly fading. Your head is no longer pounding and the nausea is gone completely. Right when you feel he’s about to lean in and kiss you, he pulls back, glancing at his watch.
“It’s getting late,” he points out, standing up and stretching his arms. “You should go to bed. I still have some phone calls to make and some horrid assignments to grade, but I’d rather you sleep off your illness.”
“Right.” You stand up alongside him, the tension in the air finally broken at the change of topic. “Goodnight, Jonathan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nods. “Goodnight.”
The bedroom is far more inviting and pleasing at night. The open curtains allow you to see the view of the city at night, something your crappy apartment didn’t have. The bright lights of the people who hadn’t slept yet, the skyscrapers with flashy lights and neon advertisements. You close the curtains and change into a cute nightgown you’d bought years ago, loudly sighing in relief when you lay on the bed.
Makes my other bed seem like a total joke. You think and smile, noticing the generous amount of pillows and stacked blankets.
Jonathan had indeed changed. That much was obvious, and it was a change you weren’t accustomed to, but that didn’t change your adoration for him or make you like him any less. In your heart he’s still the silly traumatized boy from back then who barely knew how to speak with people.
Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to let him kiss me. It’s obvious we’re not just stupid roommates. You groan at the thought that you avoided his kiss, but it seemed wise in the moment; speeding things up so soon didn’t seem smart. But it’s not like you’re complete strangers.
You’re childhood lovers. Screw relationship norms.
—
Jonathan wasn’t lying when he said he needed to grade assignments. He sat on his desk and skimmed over the trashy papers his students made— all talentless fools with zero passion on the art of psychology. This class in particular was about abnormal psychology so he hoped his students would be special. Alas; he was disappointed each time. At least they served some purpose in regards to the development of his toxin.
“Essay on parenting styles. Boring. Ethical issues of psychology. Boring. Depression. Boring.”
His mind paid no attention to the boring repetitive topics the students chose— all probably directly copied from some overpriced book he made them buy, which he could hardly remember. The passion he had for teaching vanished when he realized no one was as dedicated and passionate as he was.
His eyes paused on one of the essay topics that caught his eye.
“Trauma bonding.” He reads it out, having remembered hearing such a thing in his classes many years ago, but it wasn’t something he taught or knew much about after so many years. He ultimately decides it’s not worth his time despite his mild interest in the topic, skimming through it like all the rest.
His experience allows him to finish grading quickly, forcing himself into bed instead of frantically reading through his laboratory notes about the liquid he was developing. His mind flashes back to his conversation with you about his change— his lack of remorse. It pained him to know you didn’t view the situation as he did, but he knew it was only a matter of time for you to completely understand him.
The doses of toxin would help. Act like a knight in shining armor, put you in a vulnerable position only to swoop in and save you like the caring man he is for you.
“Definitely gave her too much,” he takes mental note. “Have to reduce the dose next time.”
He loved you, through and through— that hasn’t changed, and he was going to make sure you’ll accept him no matter what. Soon enough he’ll be able to show you what he is, what he wants to do.
His grandiose plans, the ultimate revenge to society for ruining him. Even if it cost him his stupid job.