Chapter Text
Everybody had their "thing". Something so distinctively theirs, be it a nervous tick, a sacred habit or a trinket always carried in their pocket. Your friend's "thing" was, for example, biting her tongue while laughing. It was distinctively hers, you haven't seen another person do that. Your boss's "thing" was that he was underpaying you twirling a lighter in his hands whenever he spoke, as if his teeth weren't a dead give-away enough for his smoking habit. Not that you judged, you wouldn't refuse a cigarette if someone offered, but you intently tried not to make a habit out of buying your own. One very eye-catching "thing" that you've seen was a man in a restaurant always touching the fork to his chin before he took a bite out of his food. It couldn't've been intentional, because you chatted him up purely because of that. He did it unconsciously and constantly. You figured it was because of some abandonment issues as a kid, but he wasn't actually interesting enough to pry further.
You liked the little "things" about people. Not many others noticed. But there was one "thing" that was very easy to notice. And it was that the guy across from you had a serious staring problem. Most people would avert their gaze once caught staring, usually having the decency to act as if they haven't been doing it in the first place. He didn't have any ounce of that subtlety nor decency, apparently. Even his friends noticed. If you could call them that. It kind of looked like he didn't want to be here and they didn't want him to be here either, but they all just put up with it for the sake of... something.
He wasn't old and nor was the rest of the group. From what you've gathered from their incessant chatter was that they've just graduated, most probably from Gotham University since one of them had the signature baseball cap. And that they've noticed his staring too.
It couldn't've been more obvious, even if he tried.
– Just ignore him. – your friend said. Easier said than done, though.
– I'll just go talk to him. – you shrugged, finishing the rest of your drink. It didn't taste good at all, but you didn't drink alcohol for the taste. No one did, and if they stated otherwise, it was a plain lie.
– Babe, he looks like he'd skin you in your sleep.
You couldn't help your snort. That part was true. You were ready to risk it, though, if that meant you would stop feeling like a specimen in a lab because of him. You were an observer too, you understood the curiosity, but really, a modicum of decorum wouldn't hurt the guy.
– It's Gotham, doesn't everyone? – was your only answer.
– You do you, but don't come crying later because you ignored the glaringly red flags.– it was her turn to shrug, sipping through her straw. You didn't feel bad for leaving her, you knew she could handle herself well enough. Would probably find a loser to buy her a few rounds and then disappear into the night like always.
– I'll give you a call if he does try to skin me alive. – you laughed, standing up and giving her a wink.
– Honestly? I think I'm more worried about him at this point.
***
It was funny, because even as you stood up, looked at him and obviously started heading his way, he didn't avert his gaze at all. He didn't even blink, which was a little impressive but mostly really off-putting. Better yet, he had the gall to act surprised when you harshly grabbed the chair on the other side of the table from him and plopped down on it, as if you didn't blatantly announce your motives beforehand.
Now, not only were his eyes on you, but you also felt the stares of the group he came in here with that stood nearby at the bar.
– Do you ever blink? – was your choice of greeting and he was obviously taken aback, his whole face contorting into a frown.
– Excuse me?
Was this man sane?
– I guess you're excused? I should be the one saying that, really. – you said with a shrug, but you couldn't hide the confusion in your voice. He, on the other hand, couldn't hide the confusion on his face. – You've been staring at me almost for an hour now and you're acting confused when I confront you? – you jumped straight to the point. There was no sense in beating around the bush with this guy.
You noticed his fingers drumming on the tabletop, his other hand repositioning his glass slightly to the left.
– I... zoned out. – his tone didn't indicate it, but it felt more like a question than a statement. How could someone speak so devoid of emotions with such an expressive face?
– With your eyes trailing up and down my legs? Sure. – you called him out on his lie and for the first time that night, he had the decency to avert his gaze in what you assumed was shame at being caught red-handed – Y'know, most people try to shoot their shot by smooth-talking. – you pointed out, one of your hands gesturing between you and him as you looked right into his eyes. They were a nice, almost icy blue and they were intense. His whole face, whole demeanor was intense. Angular, sharp, almost hostile, like everything he was doing wasn't a choice but an obligation, constantly moving like he had a gun pressed to the back of his head.
– And so you approach me? – one of his brows rose slightly higher than the other, his fingers drumming on the tabletop again as he leaned back slightly, his posture stiff.
It took you aback for a second or two. Cheeky bastard.
– Touché. – you surrendered, raising your hands for show – Is that why your friends are looking at me like I'm insane? Or is it because you're a serial killer that I happened to miss on the news? Because you do look the part.
– I wouldn't call them 'friends'.
Out of all the things you said, he chose to address that.
***
Jonathan, as you've come to learn, had a wide galore of "things". One of them you've come to call lurking, simply because calling it what it was - a form of stalking - would make things: a) disturbing to the fake reality you've lived in, and b) a little awkward.
– Jonathan, you can literally come in. Stop acting like a predator waiting for it's prey. – you sighed, not even turning around from the small social room behind the counter. You were just washing up your cup after finishing your tea, and you didn't even have to look at the door to know it was him who came in and not a customer.
Not many people visited bookstores these days, unfortunately. Well, you felt very fortunate considering that fact, since it meant that you could just do whatever the fuck you wanted while getting paid. Sure, you didn't get paid much but it was free money nonetheless.
– Doesn't your boss check the cameras? I don't think the 'staff only' sign is just for decoration.
You spared him by not laughing in his face, and instead snorting under your nose.
– Don't you come here and sit in the back with me almost every day? – you asked, amusement evident in your voice as you dried your hands. Jonathan Crane was a very peculiar man, that was for sure.
And maybe for that specific reason, you always invited him in.
He wasn't very open about himself. What you gathered was that he was currently entertaining the position of a teaching assistant - which meant more work than you but same pay as you - to a psychology professor at the Uni, enjoyed horror genres both in film and literature and that he had the most captivating and contagious smile once you've managed to bring it out. Which wasn't an easy feat, of course. And so, you've had to go off of the small bits and pieces to glue together who he really was.
You knew how he liked his coffee and that he had a sweet tooth. You knew he had problems with finding clothes that fit him because he was freakishly tall and just as thin, so whenever you went thrifting and found something that would look even slightly better than a potato sack on him, you bought it. You knew he didn't like Stephen King, because "his categorization of fear was atrocious and shallow" and that he loathed Sigmunt Freud as if the man had personally offended him. Every day, you uncovered new little bits of information on who he was and yet he remained a mystery.
You, on the other hand, didn't feel like you were equally as interesting and oftentimes wondered what made him follow you around. Whatever it was, though, you just hoped you wouldn't lose it with time.
– How was class today? – you inquired, a fresh mug of tea in your hands, his sitting on the table as he obliterated a cookie. You've never seen anyone pick their food apart like this. One time, when you two ordered take-out, you had to remind him that the chicken on his plate was already dead and he didn't have to torture it further.
– I'm starting to think most people choose psychology not because they want to achieve something, but because they didn't have any better ideas and thought it would be the easiest route to take to get a decent job.
Ah, so you were in for a rant. He was usually straight and to the point, even if he evaded your questions sometimes. He only got talkative when he spoke of subjects he was truly passionate about, and there were three - psychology of fear, psychology in general, and how much he loathed 99% of the world population.
But it didn't matter how many times he brought up the same subjects, you always listened. He once admitted there wasn't anyone else that did, and that only made you care more for what he had to say. He deserved a chance to be heard. And also, the fact that he hated basically everyone made it fun to shit-talk people with him. And by god, he was brutal in his judgement.
***
Another "thing" you've come to notice about Jonathan was that he was absolutely unpredictable. You weren't sure if you could call that a "thing", but you've never, not once in your entire life, met a person as full of surprises as him.
His obsession with everything fear-related became very clear every time he decided to sneak up on you with the sole purpose of having you die from a heart palpitation. He was infuriatingly good at it as well, because no matter how much you tried to tell yourself you're used to it, you always fell for it. It wasn't your fault, though! He literally walked soundlessly, there was no indication that he was coming closer at all, and then suddenly, you either heard a unnecessarily ominuous comment whispered right by your ear or felt something prickling at random parts of your body. He took immense joy in it, too, that much was clear. And as much as you absolutely loathed this ability of his, you could never contain your chuckles when you saw his smile after he gave you a good scare. Sure, it was a little sinister, but what mattered was that he smiled at all. Even if it was at your misery.
But despite how creepy he sometimes came off, he was an absolute sweetheart inside. He would probably strangle you if you ever said that out loud to him, but it was the truth. You've always had a keen eye for little things, and he did many to prove that he valued whatever you two had more than he could verbally express. They were, as mentioned, small, and most of the time instinctive, but that's what made them matter so much. Like how he always covered sharp corners and edges with his hand because he knew you were prone to bumping into furniture because of either miscalculation or shitty spacial awareness. Same with always closing cupboards behind you whenever you invited him over and decided to scramble up a homemade meal, because he knew you'd forget and hit yourself on the doors sooner or later. It was these small things that mattered the most to you, because they showed more than words could express. Maybe sometimes more than he would like to show, even.
You noticed the way he started sitting or walking closer to you than before, despite never being affectionate or even slightly physical with you. In your head, you kind of looked at him like you would look at a cat - he could take or leave your company as he saw fit, eat the food you were offering or scratch your hand simply because you thought to offer. It was complicated, gaining even a silver of his trust, and you didn't quite pinpoint what happened to him in the past yet, but it was enough to make him wary of every step he took. It hurt, sometimes, because you thought that out of all people, he was most deserving of some comfort, of being able to feel safe in another's presence. But it also taught you to cherish every moment like it was the last time you'd see him. And honestly? Every moment could be exactly that, if the way he disappeared for days sometimes was anything to go by.
At first, it was really hard to get used to his mood swings. One day he'd sit with you and ramble your ear off, the next he could be cold and evasive, like you were merely a stranger, a pesky instect bothering him for no apparent reason. And yet, sooner or later, he'd come crawling back, acting like nothing happened, ever-distant and yet so... desperate for your company.
– Why is it that every time we get closer, you insistently try to push me away? Why do you feel the need to run from me whenever things start to get better? – you confronted him once, and despite his clear indignance to do so, he stayed rooted in place. And despite not quite confiding in you, the mere fact that you noticed and showed him your hurt made him open up that little bit more. That, despite his clear discomfort, made him push through the initial urge to run and defend himself, and allow himself the pleasure of your comfort. Allow himself to talk because you listened and be silent because you understood.
***
Jonathan's most obvious thing was that he did not like to be touched. The first time you grabbed his shoulder to garner his attention, he almost jumped out of his chair and took the table with him. It wasn't just regular surprise, as he tried to convince you. You, out of all people, knew what it looked like to jump in surprise. No, that wasn't it at all. You didn't pry, though, and simply kept that in mind.
And you had to remind yourself many, many times not to touch him. People don't realise how much they rely on physical contact until they have to refrain from it. But you avoided touching him unless it truly was necessary. Instead of grabbing his shoulder, you rapped your knuckles or drummed your fingers on the closest surface in his view to get his attention. Instead of brushing him whenever you wanted to pass by, you verbally announced your intentions and he made it a point to stick to any other surface to avoid being touched, no matter how tight the fit was. Instead of handing things directly to him, you put it on countertops or other flat surfaces in his vicinity, so he could pick them up as he pleased. You made it a point to never intentionally cause him any discomfort, and as much as he seemed to appreciate it, sometimes he looked almost... disgusted? You couldn't quite decipher that look. It's as if he hated you for touching him just as much as he hated you for not doing it. Either outcome wasn't pleasant to you, but you tried to accept it.
Either way, his obvious aversion to human contact was exactly what made him asking you to dance so baffling. Well, asking was a strong word for it.
Last week, he visited you at work yet again, straight after class most probably, since it was earlier than he usually did. Immediately, you could see something was gnawing at him, but he wasn't too keen on admitting what. You tried to let it go and direct the conversation to other subjects to at least make him momentarily forget about whatever it was that bothered him. Eventually though, he snapped.
– It is obviously a jab directed at me, that much is clear. – he explained to you, – Everyone is well aware that I am not the one to waste time on socializing much, let alone the mindless mingling that's usually on the agenda of these events. But, it is an opportunity nonetheless, to maybe establish some contacts outside of Gotham, or even a sponsor for my research. And the reservation is for two people either way, so why let a spot on the conference go to waste?
He rambled on and on, to the point where you couldn't understand a single word coming out of his mouth, before finally admitting that he was asking you to attend a psychological science convention of sorts, since he, along with a group of four other people, was chosen to represent GU and present their research publicly for the first time. Or that's what you gathered from it. He could've asked you to go and watch a rabbit grooming competition with him and you'd've agreed.
From that moment on, every passing day was a rollercoaster.
He was in desperate need of your support and reassurance, yet continuously tried to act like he had everything under control. He was stressed beyond imagination, constantly snapping at you and any poor soul that happened to stumble by. You helped him pack because that fool wouldn't even take a sweater or fresh underwear with him since he was so fixated on his notes and rehearsing his presentation. You listened to him practice everywhere - at your job, at his house, in the car while you were driving to the airport, on the plane, even on the elevator ride in the hotel. The only time he shut up about the thing was when you two realised you got a couple room with a singular bed. Jonathan gave the poor receptionist hell for it and then you watched him practically obliterate the keycard in his fist when she told him there weren't any other rooms avaliable.
You forcefully sat him down on the bed and poured the both of you a drink to help him loosen up before he chewed through the walls. The man was on edge for the whole week and every minor inconvenience was pushing him closer to his limit, it seemed. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, you were his only source of comfort.
You prompted him to ramble on and on to blow some steam off, you refilled his glass whenever it got empty, you took off his glasses as he passed out on the bed and curled up on the small couch.
You calmed him down when he apologized for his horrible behaviour and forced you to take the couch when it was his responsibility to ensure you had a pleasant stay. You hyped him up before he got on the stage and were the first one to stand up and clap once he finished his presentation, prompting the rest of the room to follow suit. You were the first one to congratulate him and see the genuine smile on his face as he finally started to accomplish what he dreamed of.
You kept close by his side to save him from blurting out something inappropriate in front of anyone that approached him, you kept him at bay when he was talking about his project to potential sponsors so he did not go overboard. You guided him through crowds and counted his drinks as you watched everyone loosen up after a stressful day either at the bar or on the improvised dancefloor, even though only classical music was playing. Even scientists needed a break sometimes, it seemed.
And now you stared like an idiot at his outstretched hand, eyes jumping between it and his scrunched up face. He looked like he was in pain.
– I-... Forget it, it is a stupid idea, you're right-... – for the first time in your life, you heard him stutter, but before he could retract his hand, you quickly put your own in it. Gently but insistently.
He didn't jump.
– It's not stupid. But you look like you're forcing yourself to do this. – you admitted, a little sad at that truth – I would love to, but only if you want it. I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything for being here.
For a moment, you thought he was going to back out. It saddened you even more, but you'd understand.
Instead, you felt him pull you just that little bit closer, stepping onto the dancefloor. His other hand, although slow and hesitant, found it's place on your back, between your shoulder blades as he adjusted the both of you into position.
– I owe you everything.
There was no time for that sentiment to take your breath away, because he was leading you along the flow of the music. Your hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing lightly to give him something, anything in response to his words. His movements were surprisingly sure and steady. You never took him for a dancer, but there was still so much of him to uncover. There was still so much he wasn't showing you, but the part that you were privy to seeing now was enough.
Even though you didn't have many opportunities to dance with a partner in the past, the grace and swiftness of his moves made them easy to follow. You didn't have to look down at your feet to make sure you don't stomp on his, and besides, you couldn't. Even if you tried. Not with the way his eyes bore into yours with an intensity you haven't seen in them yet.
– And I want to thank you. – despite the certanity his movements held, his voice sounded surprisingly nervous – For putting up with me, even when...
You smiled as he trailed off, looking for the right words.
– Even when you were being a pain in my ass? – you offered in a playful jab, chuckling as he rolled his eyes even though he couldn't hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.
– I wouldn't've phrased it like that, but... yes. Especially for when I was being a pain in your ass. – he more grumbled than said it, but the small smile still adorned his face. You dare say it suited him better than the usual scowl, although you were fond even of his furrowed brows and downturned mouth.
For a moment, your eyes trailed lower, and in a rush of sudden bravery, you moved your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, your thumb just barely brushing at the short hairs at his nape. His nostrils flared a little and you could swear you saw him grit his teeth for a moment, but his gaze never wavered. And instead of pushing away from you or shaking your hand off, you felt his arm slowly but surely wrapping tighter around you and pulling you close, closer than you've possibly ever been to him, your chest pressed to his.
You could feel his heart racing, to the point where you thought it might just jump out of his chest and skitter around the room. Was he having a heart attack?
– I don't mind, but only because it's you.