Dinner that night wasn't an extravagant affair. The food was excellent, but one might say that the conversation was lacking. Between Selina's desire to eat everything within her reach, Alfred's expectantly quiet manners, and Bruce's developing need to brood, there wasn't much to say. Towards the beginning of the meal, his butler had asked about the meeting he attended earlier that afternoon, in which Bruce simply told him that they'd discussed the safety of Gotham and the reconstruction of the bridges. He still wasn't sure if Alfred should know about him harboring criminally insane twins, but he figured right now wasn't the best time.
After dinner had ended and the dishes had been cleared, he crept back into the kitchen knowing his butler had gone to tidy the study. He found the leftover plate of prime rib and wrapped up a few slices, grabbing bread, two apples, two plates, and silverware as well. Then he ran up the stairs and turned left. He knocked quietly on Jeremiah's door.
The boy opened the door and stood aside to let him in. He had removed his suit jacket and overshirt and was now wearing just the white collared shirt and his dress pants. Bruce had no idea how he could wear formal attire all the time. Sure, he was the heir to an empire, but even he didn't enjoy suits that much.
"I brought dinner. I sincerely hope you're not a vegetarian." He set two of the slices of meat out on a plate along with one of the apples and half the loaf of bread. He also placed down one set of silverware.
"Unfortunately, I am."
Bruce stared at him, not sure how to respond.
Jeremiah saw his expression and smiled. "I'm kidding, Bruce. Thank you. This is quite the elaborate spread for a convict locked in one of your bedrooms."
"The whole point of you coming here was so you could avoid being a prisoner. So why would I treat you like one?"
"Because in your eyes, it's what I deserve." He noticed Bruce becoming defensive and continued to speak. "Don't deny it. There's a part of you that hates me. And I'm alright with that. I already told you: I'm not asking for your unconditional support. In fact, you've surpassed my expectations immensely. Besides, hate is a very similar emotion to love. Therefore, I do not mind that you hate me. I still feel justified in my actions. And, my offer still stands. If you decide you've had enough of enabling and justifying this broken, twisted city, I will help you rebuild and restore it to the glory it deserves. However, I am aware that you aren't going to accept my offer any time soon, so there's no use in you arguing with me now. Thank you for the food, Bruce. I'll see you tomorrow."
His mind was racing, but he could only grasp on to one thought. "Did you just dismiss me from a room in my own house?"
Jeremiah laughed. "I adore the fact that my last statement was the only thing you decided was of importance. I suppose I did, I'm sorry. I'm used to you being in my home, not vice versa. Please, excuse yourself whenever you feel like it."
"I still have to bring you water. And clothes. I hope you didn't think I'd let you sleep in a dress shirt and slacks. I'm not that cruel."
He looked down at his attire. "I didn't even realize I was still wearing day clothes. And water, yes, that would be nice. You're shorter than me, though. And you have a more narrow build."
Bruce couldn't believe he was making this offer, but, "I think I have some of my dad's old clothes. They might fit you."
His eyes filled with uncharacteristic surprise and gratitude. "I can understand how monumental of an offer that is for you. But, you have to understand that I must decline. I respected your father incredibly, and I would feel odd in his clothing. I'd prefer to just sleep in what I have on."
"I'll check my own closet then, because you're not sleeping in a collared shirt. It might wrinkle." He smiled. Perhaps the relief at his declination was evident in his eyes because Jeremiah didn't push the subject.
"I'll wait here then. Don't rush, it's not as if I'm going anywhere." Jeremiah sat on the edge of the mattress and smoothed the duvet.
"Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. I need to drop off the rest of this food."
Jeremiah's expression darkened but he made no comment.
Bruce decided that was a good time to leave, so he exited the room and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He slid his key into the lock and turned it, opening the door.
Once again, he wasn't prepared for the scene waiting for him inside. Now, Jerome was sitting on top of the desk attempting to balance everything he could find on that one tea cup. Admittedly, he had a fairly impressive stack going, composed of Bruce's notebook, the newspaper, Jerome's shoes, both of the boxes he'd had lying on his bed, his alarm clock, his entire collection of ties, and the bag of pretzels.
"We need to find you some hobbies," he said, drawing Jerome's attention.
"Are you telling me that defying gravity isn't an innovative and fulfilling way to spend my time?" He crossed his legs and leaned against the wall, facing Bruce.
"I'm just suggesting that perhaps there are even more fulfilling activities you could be doing." Bruce walked over to the desk and set down the other plate, which he put the remainder of the leftovers on. "Eating, for starters."
Jerome picked up a slice of prime rib with his fingers. "I think eating is a necessity more than a hobby," he said between bites.
"Take that up with Selina. Also, I brought silverware, you know." He gestured to the knife and fork lying beside the plate.
"Bruce, if I wanted to eat like I was sitting with the fucking queen, I would."
"Also known as being a civilized human being," he muttered under his breath.
Jerome waved his arm in the air theatrically. "The idea of being civilized is, incidentally, a construct of civilization. And I have made it my life's mission to never conform to society, so I'm certainly not starting now, just because Bruce Wayne is staring at me like I just stepped on his dog."
He tossed a fork a Jerome, who's reflexes demanded he catch it. "I don't have a dog. Use the fork." The teenager rolled his eyes but did as Bruce said. While he ate, Bruce opened his closet and rummaged around, looking for clothes he knew were too big for him. He managed to find three shirts and two pairs of sweatpants that didn't fit.
One pair of pants and a shirt ended up on Jerome's lap. He figured that him and Jeremiah were the same size, being identical and all.
"What are these for?"
"Would it be too easy if I said they were for you to wear?"
"Yes, but I'll accept that answer for now because I want more answers. Why are you giving your clothes to me?"
Bruce gave him an exasperated look. "Guess."
He knew immediately that this was the wrong game to play with Jerome, who stroked his chin dramatically. "If I were to wager an inquiry, I'd say that you're attempting to mark me with your scent so the others know I've been claimed."
"Your deductive reasoning skills amaze me. Obviously, that's what I was going for."
Jerome placed a hand over his mouth in pantomimed shock. "Brucie, are you using sarcasm? My goodness, you've grown up so quickly. Soon you'll be graduating to sardonic humor and self deprecation. I'm not sure I'm emotionally prepared for that yet."
"While you think of more smart-ass remarks, I'm going to run these down to the laundry room. I'll come back with water."
"I'll start a book full of them. Ooh, and a clothing line!"
Bruce was confused. "Where did the clothing line come from?"
"I like the name 'Jerome Valeska's Jests and Vests'. It has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?"
"I hope you know just how severely ADHD you are," he said seriously.
Jerome shrugged. "I don't want life to get boring. Keeps me on my toes."
He laughed. "Sometimes, I aspire to have your perspective on things, and then I remember who you are."
"One of these days, I'm going to get offended by those statements. However, today is not that day."
"Good, because I don't like my chances against an offended Valeska. I'll be right back, okay?"
"Sure, see ya in a few minutes." Jerome returned his attention to his tower. He placed the slices of bread on top of the bag of pretzels and grinned gleefully when they stayed. His grin must have been contagious, because Bruce found himself smiling as he closed the door behind him.
A quick trip back down to the kitchen to fill two glasses of water, and he was back up the stairs, once again heading to the left first. Jeremiah opened the door before he even finished knocking.
"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to return."
"Sorry, I had to make a few stops, but I found clothes." He handed him the two remaining shirts and the other pair of pants, and set the glass of water down on the end table.
He must have been eager to be out of his dress clothes, because he quickly removed his shirt. Bruce wasn't trying to look or anything, he just happened to notice that he was surprisingly muscular and well-built. His white skin covered toned muscles that his many layers of clothing had hidden. A pair of curious bright eyes met his wandering ones. Bruce quickly turned away, staring at the wall.
Jeremiah laughed softly, and after a moment had passed he said, "You're allowed to look now."
Bruce turned around to see him fully dressed in the clothes he'd brought up. He didn't think he'd ever seen Jeremiah in anything more casual than a button up, so him in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants was an odd change. Especially considering his new cosmetic alterations.
He realized he was staring again, so he tore his eyes away from him and attempted to focus on anything else while he spoke. "I'm glad they fit, I was worried they'd be too small." Why is talking to him so difficult lately? he asked himself. It was never this hard before. I guess a lot has changed, his mind automatically answered.
"You're not that short." Jeremiah moved closer to him to compare their heights. "I'd say it's a difference of about four inches. Besides, you're younger than me and in the prime time for growth. I expect you'll surpass my height in the next two years or so."
Despite how much he'd put Bruce through, his closeness caused his heart to speed up rapidly. Honestly, he couldn't even explain why he had such a dramatic effect on him. The worst part was, there was nothing he could do to control it. And apparently, he was terrible at hiding it.
"That rosy tint has returned to your cheeks. I haven't seen it in a while," Jeremiah commented. He rested the back of his hand on the side of Bruce's face, caressing his right cheek gently with his thumb.
"Jeremiah, I can't-"
"You're angry with me," he murmured.
"Yes."
"You wish I'd made different choices."
"Yes."
"And yet you continue to go out of your way to be around me."
"I don't know what you mean."
Jeremiah was gazing analytically into his eyes now, as if he was searching for answers there. "No one is forcing you to allow me to stay in your home, and they certainly aren't demanding you appear in this room every five minutes. Even before this unpredictable turn of events, you managed to squeeze me into your schedule daily. I simply don't understand why."
"I feel differently when I'm around you," he answered honestly. "I never know what to expect. Nobody continues to surprise me as much as you do. I'm fairly good at reading people, but I never have any idea what you're thinking, although I can tell that your brain is constantly working. Exactly what it's working on, I couldn't say. You're as much of an anomaly to me as I am to you."
"So we're nothing more than mysteries to each other." It was a statement, but he said it like a question.
"I have no idea what I am to you. But I know what you are to me."
"And what would that be?"
"A friend, a rival, and full of intriguing prospects."
"All of those things? My goodness, I didn't know I had so many standards to live up to. May I ask what sort of prospects are in question?" His thumb was now rubbing distracting circles under his earlobe, making it harder to think.
"Several of them. All more confusing than the last."
"Bruce, I thrive on confusion." Jeremiah's hand was moving down his cheek now to cup his chin. His cool touch was a welcome balance to the warmth of his spreading blush.
"I know." He was stopped from saying anything more by the dip of Jeremiah's head. His lips brushed Bruce's teasingly, but didn't fully meet them. Instead, they chose to dance along his jaw until he couldn't think at all. When Bruce couldn't tolerate it anymore, he pulled Jeremiah up to kiss him. The display of power didn't seem to sit well with him, however, as a quick bite on his lip established who was in charge. This surprised him, but any notion of trying to argue about it vanished from his mind as a quick turn from Jeremiah had him pressed against the wall. Bruce gripped his shirt as leverage and felt cold hands move from his jaw to his waist, holding him in place. Jeremiah's hands gripped his hips as he once again removed his lips from Bruce's, this time pushing the collar of his sweater aside and trailing them down his neck. Or at least, that appeared to be the plan. He seemed to notice that there were marks already there. Slowly, he detached himself from Bruce. The look in his eyes was more dangerous than any he'd ever seen before.
"I see you've been having fun recently," Jeremiah whispered icily.
"I can do whatever I like. I don't belong to you," replied Bruce just as coldly, sick of balancing his unpredictable mood swings.
The boy seemed to toy with this thought for a moment. Finally he decided, "Not yet. Give it time. And until you realize that you shouldn't go kissing every boy you see, I'll just have to leave a reminder." Before he could react, he received another bite on the lip. A much harder one that he knew was bound to draw blood.
Bruce brushed past him and left the room without saying anything. He stopped in the restroom to clean up his lip before returning to his bedroom. His heart dropped when he tried the door and realized he hadn't locked it. He opened it quickly, revealing another sight he would've never expected to see.
Selina was lounging on his bed, picking at one of the slices of bread she seemed to have stolen from Jerome's tower. The red-haired boy himself was still sitting on the desk. They were engaged in a debate and didn't seem to notice his entrance.
"Okay, sure. But if you cut a guy in the back of his heel, you know he ain't goin' anywhere else, and he sure as hell can't run to the cops," Selina stated with a shrug.
"Maybe that works if you're three feet tall, but stooping down that low is just inconvenient," Jerome argued. "A nice slice to the pelvic area, and you can guarantee that they're done for. And if they're female and not as easily intimidated by that prospect? Well, you're superficial creatures. A threat to the face and you've already won the fight."
She didn't seem to have any retort to this questionable assumption, so she turned her attention to Bruce. "Hey, you made it."
Jerome also looked over to him. "You said you'd bring water."
Shit. "Sorry, I accidentally cut my lip open and forgot. I'll run back down and get a glass."
"Nah, I'll get it. I'm faster than you anyways." And as if to prove her point, she darted out of the room and down the stairs.
"What did you do to your lip?" His tone was nonchalant but he couldn't hide his concern, which appeared to be becoming a trademark of his.
Bruce shrugged. "I bit down on it too hard."
"Are you worried about something?"
Just everything in the world. "No, why?"
"Because you don't strike me as the type to cut open your own lip for fun."
"It was just an accident, Jerome." At that moment, Selina arrived with a glass of water in hand, discontinuing the conversation. She handed it to Jerome and resumed her position on Bruce's bed.
"Thank you darling," he replied, taking a sip from the glass.
"Wow, you two must have really bonded in the three minutes I was gone." Bruce claimed the desk chair that was currently being neglected by Jerome.
"It was more like ten, and we have a lot in common," Selina replied.
He looked at her in surprise. "You do?"
She nodded. "I like sharp things, he likes sharp things. I had a shitty mother, he had a shitty mother. He likes you, I like you...in different ways."
"Those are all fair points. Although, if Alfred sees you creeping in here, neither of us are going to hear the end of it. Not to mention he'll put a padlock on my door."
"Don't worry, he went to bed. It's like eleven thirty, Bruce. Have you ever seen him stay up any later?"
"Only when I'm still awake downstairs."
"Well obviously. He's not going to leave his only purpose in life alone on the ground floor of a gigantic house in the middle of the night," Jerome chimed in.
Selina sat up. "Besides, I wasn't going to pass up on an opportunity to meet your boyfriend."
Bruce rolled his eyes. "He's not my boyfriend."
"He's not?" they both asked in unison.
He looked pointedly at Jerome. "No, especially if he decides to speak in the third person."
Jerome stared at him very seriously. "Okay, so third person limited is off the table. But is third person omniscient still available? Jerome would like to know. By the way, that was the narrator saying that, not Jerome."
Bruce couldn't help but laugh. "Only if the entire story is from the narrator's perspective."
Selina shook her head with mock disgust. "I regret ever stepping foot in this room. Let me know when you two stop being dorks." She stood up and walked back over to the door.
"You're leaving so soon?" Jerome inquired.
"Yeah. I figured I'd get some sleep while you flirted, otherwise it would just be a long and painful night for me. Goodnight, guys. I'll see you in the morning," she said, pointing at Bruce. Then she left the room again, leaving them alone.
"She's a nice kid," Jerome decided once she exited.
Bruce raised his eyebrows. "She's the same age as you. I think. I'm not sure exactly how old you are anymore."
Jerome laughed. "You and me both, Brucie. I thought she was your age."
"No, she's two years older than me."
"Damn, she must've really taken a likin' to ya to stick around for that long then. I mean, I can understand why. But I bet you were intolerable at eleven."
"I wasn't intolerable," he said indignantly.
The boy shrugged. "I sorta knew ya at twelve, and that was already too much prickery for me to handle. Thank god you calmed down by the time our next meeting rolled around."
"You just inadvertently called a twelve-year-old a prick."
"And I'll advertently call another one a prick. Bring me a twelve-year-old and just watch me."
Bruce kicked his shin lightly. "I'm not bringing you children so you can insult them and scar them for life."
"Aww, why not?" Jerome scooted off of the desk and moved to where Selina had been sitting.
"Because I'd like one kid in this city to grow up without any mental damage."
"But Bruce, it's a rite of passage in Gotham. Otherwise, the city might actually be functional. And we all know what a shame that'd be."
He left the chair and went to sit by Jerome. "You're overthinking this. I'm going to sleep." Jerome stood up and walked back over to the desk. "What are you doing?"
"I'm changing into the clothes you so kindly gave me and then I'm resuming my position from the previous evening."
"It's a king-sized bed. There's plenty of room. I'm not going to let you sleep in the chair again."
"Really?" Again, Bruce was reminded of how underprivileged the boy's life had been.
"Of course."
Jerome grinned widely. He also tossed the untouched apple into the tower he'd constructed and watched with joy as it fell apart. Bruce noticed that the clothes he'd given him had somehow wound up as part of its structure. The smiling teenager grabbed them from the wreckage and walked over to the closet to change. Bruce wondered where the sudden modesty had come from, but decided to take it as a gift so he wouldn't be tempted to stare again.
He came back from the closet dressed in clean clothes, and laid down next to Bruce. Jerome didn't say anything, but he wrapped his arms around him and hummed contentedly.
"Goodnight, Jerome," he whispered into the darkness.
"Nighty-night, Brucie." And Jerome was soon fast asleep, snoring mildly. Bruce fell into a slumber deeper than that of last night, and for the first time since his parents' death, he didn't recall a single dream.