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As he opened the door to his apartment, practically yanking the key to get it out, Roy Harper let out a sigh. He had just dropped Lian off to spend the weekend at Ollie and Dinah's—which was awesome and great and he was glad they were bonding, but meant he'd be alone. Not that being alone was something he dreaded, but it just felt wrong to be home alone when you had a kid.
But he quickly realized he wasn't alone.
After haphazardly tossing his keys on the entryway table and shucking his shoes off, he began making his way toward the kitchen. On the way there, though, he heard strained breaths. Congested sniffles, if you will. Just wonderful. Someone had broken into his apartment and wasn't even trying to hide it. He carefully turned the corner, but immediately relaxed when the living room came into view.
"Jason?"
On his couch, holding a box of tissues, was Jason Todd.
"Hey," the man began, but quickly fell into a short coughing fit. Jesus. He sounded horrible.
"Hey, Jaybird," Roy quickly made his way over to him, smoothing a hand over his hair as he sat down. Jason's eyes fluttered. God, he must really be sick.
"M'okay," he slurred, gently coughing again. "Jus' need to sleep it off."
"Yeah, okay, buddy," Roy let out a small laugh. He was still running his fingers through Jason's hair, lightly scratching. "I'll make some soup, alright?"
Jason hummed, though it sounded more like a groan.
"Want me to put the TV on?" Roy asked, moving to get off the couch.
Jason just shook his head, eyes closed. "Headache," he explained.
"That's okay."
Roy gathered ingredients for the soup. Luckily, he already had rotisserie chicken in the fridge (leftover from his and Lian's dinner a few nights ago) and chicken broth in the pantry. All he needed to do was chop the vegetables and put it all together. As he moved around the kitchen, he spoke up again.
"Does me talking make your headache worse?"
"Nah," Jason replied, still from the couch.
"Okay. That's good," he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "Do the other bats know you're sick?"
Jason made a sound that definitely meant they didn't. "Prolly just think I'm skipping patrol to do fuck-all," he sighed. "Bet B's pissed."
Why Jason was so convinced his family hated him, Roy would never fully understand. Something to do with him being a misfit street-rat-turned-nepo-baby, he supposed. He could've just told them he was sick, but that would mean letting his guard down enough for them to take care of him, and that just wouldn't do. It wasn't like he knew Bruce would cry actual tears if he came home for more than an hour. But, as selfish as it was, Roy felt his heart pang at the thought that Jason held him in a high enough regard to come to him while sick. Him. Not his adoptive father, not his brothers. Not even staying by himself, toughing it out. No. Jason went to Roy. How lovely was that? The thought made Roy want to do something dangerous, like blurt out three specific words. He wouldn't, though. Shouldn't.
He continued with the soup, which was now almost ready in the time he took to think about being in love with his best friend. It had probably been too much time since Jason spoke to respond, but he did so anyway.
"I bet they'd understand," he said, softly. Too softly. Jason didn't say anything back.
Roy let out a breath, though not frustratedly, as he poured some soup in a bowl for the man in his living room, placing it on a tray alongside crackers, medicine, and a cup of water. Jason opened his eyes as he brought it to him.
"I'm sure Alfred's food was way better than this on sick days, but I hope this is still somewhat comforting," Roy smiled as he slid the tray onto the coffee table, sitting back down on the couch. Jason just reached for the bowl of soup, smiling that small, grateful smile at him, and it felt like something better than approval. Something he didn't dare name.
Jason took a spoonful of the chicken noodle soup and raised it to his lips, gently blowing before putting the spoon in his mouth. His eyes closed once more, though this time it didn't look like it was out of pain.
"Good?" he asked. Jason nodded. "Good."
After watching him take a few bites, Roy realized he hadn't checked Jason's temperature. He figured the thermometer he had in the medicine cabinet wouldn't be of much use now that he'd been eating hot soup, so Roy didn't think before doing what he did next.
He rubbed his thumb across Jason's forehead soothingly, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed his lips to the skin. Yeah, Jason definitely had a fever. As he pulls away, Jason's face looks a bit more flushed than it did before. He was also making a funny face.
"What?" Roy said, incredulously. Jason just raised an eyebrow, moving to take another bite of his soup.
"I was checking your temperature," he explained. "Which you should be thankful for, by the way, because you're burning up!"
"Could've just used your hand like a normal person," Jason muttered, though not rudely.
"Nah," Roy grinned. "Not as accurate, Jaybird."
The other man just rolled his eyes in response, huffing out something close to a bemused laugh.
They sit in silence as Jason finishes his soup. Once he does, Roy makes him drink the glass of water and take the cold medicine. There's a tenderness in the air that neither of them addresses, careful to not let it slip away. Jason's head begins to loll, though, so Roy suggests he go lay down. In Roy's bed. He feels his heart beat a bit faster for a moment.
After the initial protest he just has to put up, Jason is snugly wrapped up in Roy's bedsheets, half asleep already.
"What else can I do, Jay?" Roy asks.
"Hm," he groans out. Roy knows he doesn't want to ask for anything more, already feeling like he's been enough of a burden to him. That won't do.
"You sure?"
It takes a few minutes before Jason asks, so softly he almost didn't hear it:
"Read to me?"
And Roy is done for. Didn't Jason know the list of things he would do for him was endless?
"'Course," he breathes out. Roy grabs an older book on his nightstand he knew Jason had read before, but he hadn't gotten around to reading himself. He sat atop his comforter next to Jason, propping himself up on a pillow.
"G'under the blankets, Harper," he hears Jason say. "Don't want 'ya getting cold."
"Yeah, okay," he says, and he does. He pretends not to notice how Jason shifts closer to him as he starts reading aloud.
Jason is knocked out in less than ten minutes. Roy doesn't realize it at first, but once he does, he stops narrating and shifts to just reading in his head. He actually was interested in this book now that he started it. Go figure.
After a while, though, he felt his arm start to go numb. He couldn't rightfully move without waking Jason up, and he knew this, but he tried regardless. In the middle of Roy's laughably slow change of position, Jason shifts, lifting his head up.
"Mm?" his eyes don't open, though his eyebrows are furrowed. It's so endearingly cute.
"Nothing, Jaybaby," Roy whispers, freely moving now. He scoots himself down on his pillow so he's laying down, too. "Go back to sleep."
"M'kay," Jason shifts in their new position so his cheek is smushed against Roy's bicep, those plush lips softly pressing into his skin. "Lov'ya, Roy," he slurs, breaths evening out once again, this time against his arm, and Roy feels like like he's the one with the fever.
He must be getting delirious. He gently set the book down, forgotten, and turned his bedside lamp off too, ready to sleep.
As he let out a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling, he swore he felt a feather-light kiss on his bicep. Maybe he was getting sick, too.