10.15 Saturday Night
Pairing: Aqualad/Speedy
He was sitting under the single overhead light in the kitchen, almost spotlighted, staring at the phone on the table. Was it going to ring?
Was it going to be the police, telling him that the red haired boy had been hurt, or worse? Was it going to be the boy telling him that he wasn't coming back?
The dark eyed boy begins to cry, weeping for yesterday's mistakes.
Yesterday, the day he told the archer that he loved him. The day he ran, without looking back.
The clock was chiming, ten strikes, into the darkness.
10.15, the door opens. He walks in, clothes a little messy, but fine. The boy at the table cries harder, relief rushing over him.
The masked boy feels horrible; he caused this angelic boy pain. He rushes to the weeping boy, wraps his arms around him, pulling him as close to him as possible.
He tells the boy he's sorry, that he loves him back, that he should never cry for him. He pulls the boy's face closer to his own, kisses him, telling him without words.
I love you.
