The small drops of water tapped almost regularly on the window, running in growing rivulets down the previously dirty glass onto the sodden ground. Jonathan's icy blue eyes stared into the all-engulfing darkness outside, looking for something in the oppressive blackness. The former psychiatrist himself didn't really know what it actually was in this moment. There was probably nothing hiding in the night. The edges of his mouth twitched a bit. This inner emptiness literally made him sick and every attempt to escape from it or to fill it meaningfully ended with the thoughts of this terrible state being forced upon him. It was almost impossible for him to simply enjoy such a moment of rest. The rogue sighed softly and leisurely turned his gaze from the window, let the opals roam briefly through the spacious living room. It was kept meticulously clean. Almost too perfectly organized. Everything in this room had its rightful place and if there was a new purchase it would find a safe place for eternity without any problems. People tended to praise the former psychiatrist for this fact, even to rave about being able to implement such a functioning system themselves. Nevertheless, the Master of Fear knew that this order was nothing more than a farce to escape the chaos in his own head. Who could have guessed what was really going on in their branched brain? Jonathan absently reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, carefully sticking one of the coffin nails into his mouth. He didn't ignite it, just played a little with the poisonous stalk between his teeth, sliding it slowly from side to side with his tongue. A small smile crept onto his worn lips. Edward had hated it profoundly when his significant other had smoked and after some heated discussions the gaunt man had finally agreed to cancel this vice for good. However, this did not stop him from fooling his mind into thinking that he was going to remedy the situation soon with a cigarette. For the most part, addictions were simply a matter of the mind and - if the will was there - surprisingly easy to overcome. Routines, on the other hand, seemed more difficult to break through. Jonathan nibbled carefully on the filter and after a few seconds took the coffin nail out of his mouth again, sliding it back into the remaining box. He stowed it safely in the grey jacket and looked around at the door. There was no one to be seen. The brown-haired man chuckled cautiously and turned his eyes back to the steamed-up window.
The tinkerer would most likely jump at his throat at this now rare sight or at least make a derogatory comment that he should finally banish the cursed stalks from his collection. Despite the often sarcastic remarks, the former psychiatrist knew that the Riddler was only concerned about him and wanted the best for his partner. Even if the inventor would probably never admit these good intentions or talk them down. After a while, the Master of Fear casually looked down at his socks, and was startled to see some new holes in the worn fabric. He reached down with his thin arms and pulled his stockings off his feet, then sauntered almost silently to the red sofa in the middle of the room. The gaunt man took a seat on the left, looked a while for suitable utensils from the ornate sewing box on the massive side table. He was probably not as skilled with needles and threads as Jervis Tetch, but his poorly trained talent should be enough for darning some socks. The thin man carefully got to work. As the first hole closed gradually on the fabric, another notch opened in his soul. No matter how hard the elder tried to ignore it, a nagging feeling lingered in his heart. Something in him was unfulfilled. Jonathan paused at work, staring at his own bony fingers. For more than three months he had been living with the inventor in a well-preserved old apartment in one of the countless suburbs of Gotham. They had mutually agreed to stay out of major difficulties for a while and to figure out if a relationship could work out for them. Moving in together was therefore the ultimate test to be able to speak of a solid, maybe even stable partnership. The former psychiatrist barely noticeably shook his head and began sewing again. It was still incredibly difficult for the brown-haired man to adjust to the unknown situation. He had never known someone by his side in his life and suddenly being able to trust Edward was just too absurd. Who would seriously care about him and voluntarily adjust his entire life to his habit, just so as not to disturb him too much in the usual processes of living?
This made the Master of Fear doubt whether the Riddler was really being sincere with him. Was it possible that the other was just playing a deceptive game with him and would leave him when he had enough of it? The former psychiatrist closed his eyes for a moment, listening into his slowly beating heart. Mind and feelings were of course more than disagreed, often fighting bitterly for the upper hand, but the steady rhythm of his body centre spoke an unmistakable language. He knew from unfathomable, almost mystical sources about the honesty of the inventor. The lean man half opened his tired eyelids, put sewing kit and socks on the side table. In addition to all the small gestures of affection Edward showed him at home, he didn't seem ashamed to be seen with Jonathan in public. They weren't necessarily interested in showing their love to the whole world or even shouting it out openly, but the Riddler often enough broke the invisible barrier between them, which was actually meant to keep the appearance of a normal friendship. Jonathan still didn't know how the underground would react to their relationship. Strangely enough, this actually frightened him. Why, however, was a mystery to him. It was basically nobody's business with whom he shared the bed at night and how he imagined his own future. Yet there was this voice in his head preaching to him repeatedly to keep everything under wraps. It was the same voice that was responsible for convincing him that he was not worth the time of the tinkerer and that one day he would pack his bags and leave without a word. The brown-haired man sagged a little, pulled his legs up leisurely. Loneliness. How many times had he wasted thought that he would spend his whole life alone. That no one would ever be ready to take him and, like Edward, just hugs him at night. The Master of Fear put his chin on his knees. There were certain points of contention in their relationship, but these too were easily resolved. In general, the time together with the black-haired man was surprisingly harmonious and the former psychiatrist no longer wanted to do without his presence. He stared at the crackling fire in the ancient fireplace, watching the flames leap wildly on all sides. Jonathan stroked his thinning hair and groaned slightly. The last few years had practically passed him by like trains.
The hatred of all his tormentors had crept insidiously to an immensely high level and every new interaction with Batman had crowned this feeling. What remained was the realization that in his eternal anger he had lost sight of a crucial goal. His own happiness. Had it really gotten to the point where someone had to remind him that he only had one life and that he should have fun in it from time to time? Joy had been a foreign word to the older man for ages. There was just work and more work. That Edward of all people was the one who had spoken to his conscience to see things a little more calmly was pure irony. The Riddler himself was an unteachable workaholic and if you don't remind him to take a break from time to time, he works to the proverbial collapse. The former psychiatrist smiled a little wider. He had sent his partner to bed over two hours ago this evening. With a loud protest from the stubborn inventor, of course. Nevertheless, the black-haired man finally made his way into the bedroom and fell asleep on the soft mattress after a few minutes. A clear sign that he had been overtired and urgently needed a break. Jonathan blinked a little, then released the convulsive grip on his knees. He got up from the sofa and walked calmly into the hallway, looking down the dark corridor. His eyes locked on the dry wall. It was full with photographs that they had taken together over the years of their rather dubious friendship. Among them was their first meeting in the infamous Iceberg Lounge, which Harleen had kindly immortalized for them and an ancient photo from the Gotham Gazette of their first joint arrest as a criminal duo. The brown-haired smiled almost happily while looking at this really unique snapshot. Edward had a more than visible injury under his eye in the sepia-coloured picture and even the Master of Fear had not got away without some wounds. The gaunt man let his gaze wander further. They had attached the photos in chronological order. It finally culminated with the photo of the fateful birthday party of Victor Fries, at which Jonathan had admittedly decided somewhat unintentionally to want to walk the future together with the inventor. That evening he had clearly looked way too deeply into the glass and confessed, under high linguistic difficulties of course, his love to Edward. Fortunately, they had been alone in the winter garden at this intimate moment, which led the tinkerer to give him a meaningful kiss in response. The clumsy confession was followed by the first night in the same bed.
Looked at it soberly, this evening was just the happy end of a protracted development. It wasn't a particularly big surprise that their paths not only crossed accidentally in Gotham, but actually ended up in walking the way together. The brown-haired man in particular had been able to successfully overcome his fear of contact over the years and did not regret for a second that he had told the Riddler the truth about his feelings. Jonathan took a deep breath. He hoped that there would be many more photographs of them to follow on the wall. Without looking further at the pictures, the gaunt man crept in the direction of the bedroom, peeking leisurely into it. Edward was lying on his back, his left forearm resting on his forehead as is so often the case. The blanket hung more badly than right over his hip, only covering the lower abdomen of the black-haired man. The inventor had the unconscious habit of tossing the warming material somewhere in his sleep and waking up shivering in the morning because his body was slowly cooling down. The former psychiatrist walked quietly towards the bed, then finally sat on the edge. His eyes studied his lover carefully, noticing every little change in his relaxed face. After a few minutes the gaunt man looked up and gave a slight shudder. There was still so much to do, so much work which was piling up without any mercy. A break was out of the question. Jonathan was about to get up when the hand of the tinkerer grabbed his gently. The brown-haired man raised an eyebrow. His partner was asleep, but seemed to instinctively seek his presence somehow. The Master of Fear turned his hand carefully and interlaced their fingers, looking lovingly at the younger man. As if in slow motion, he sank down on the mattress and fished with his free fingers for the completely twisted bedspread at the foot end. He gradually pulled the fabric over them and moved closer to the tinkerer. The Riddler turned abruptly to the side, wrapping his left arm around the former psychiatrist's narrow body with light pressure. The older man paused for a moment, but then returned the hug tenderly and laid his head on the comfortable pillow next to Edward. He began to carefully caress the neck of the often over-the-top tinkerer, studying the gentle contours of his beautiful face. The inventor groaned almost in relief and snuggled closer to the gaunt man, then surprisingly buried his face in the crook of the other's neck. The warm, even breath brushed the cool skin. Jonathan smiled warmly and ran two fingers up the slightly curved spine of his lover. He finally placed a loving kiss on the back of the head and whispered hoarsely: "Sleep well, my prince."