Work Text:
“Oh my god, Rob, it is not that big of a deal!” Kon’s voice echoed off the steel-and-glass walls of the Titans’ Tower living room as he strode in, fists clenched at his sides. Bart and Cassie trailed behind him, heads ducked low, the awkward weight of secondhand tension clinging to them like static.
“You called me Tim in the field!” Tim shot back. His voice was low but razor-edged, the kind that cut deeper than shouting. Kon couldn’t see Tim’s eyes through the lead-lined domino mask, but he could feel the anger.
Kon dragged a hand through his dark hair, fingers flexing like he wanted to tear something apart. “No one even heard it! The explosion was too loud and I was alone—it was through comms!”
Tim let out a sharp, frustrated sound, the kind that started as a groan but cracked at the end. “That doesn’t matter. You called me my civilian name!”
“Oh my god, Tim—”
“No!” Tim snapped, stepping forward until they were only a foot apart. His finger jabbed against his own chest with each word. “Don’t ‘oh my god, Tim’ me! You have never done that to Cassie or Bart, not even when Cissie and Anita were still here—you don’t respect me.”
“That’s bullshit!” Kon barked, the word sharp enough to make Bart flinch. “I do respect you! And I’ve called Bart his name in the field before!”
“That’s not the point, Kon-El,” Tim hissed, his jaw tightening.
“Then what is?”
Tim’s arms folded across his chest like a shield. His voice dropped, cool and cutting. “You stopped treating me as a leader when we started dating.”
“Wait—you guys are dating?” Bart blurted, his head snapping up.
A hard smack broke through the argument. “Bart. Shut up,” Cassie muttered, voice low and warning.
“Ow! Don’t hit me—you have super strength,” Bart whined with a fake sniffle, rubbing his arm.
Kon’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of disbelief and hurt beneath the anger. “You think I don’t respect you as a leader just because we cuddle and have sex?” His tone was sharp but not loud this time, almost disbelieving.
“Yes.” Tim’s arms tightened across his chest, chin lifting like a challenge.
“That is ridiculous, Tim!” Kon snapped, the words ricocheting off the walls, but this time it sounded less like fury and more like something breaking beneath the surface.
Tim exhaled slowly, looking anywhere but at him. “You know what? I knew I’d regret this.”
Kon blinked. “Regret what?”
“This,” Tim said, motioning between them. “Us. Mixing work with—whatever this is.”
“Oh, come on,” Kon said, taking a step forward. “You can’t seriously be saying you regret us just because I slipped once.”
“It’s not once, Kon!” Tim snapped, cutting him off. His voice trembled just slightly, the frustration bleeding through. “It’s been building for months. You act like the rules don’t apply to you, and then you call me Tim in the middle of a mission like we’re—” he hesitated, shaking his head, “—like we’re just some couple and not teammates with people’s lives depending on us!”
Kon threw up his hands. “Because for one second I forgot! I forgot because I was worried about you, Tim! You were in danger and I panicked—sorry if my human reaction offends your perfect little system!”
Tim’s eyes flashed. “This isn’t about being perfect, it’s about protocol. It’s about respect!”
“Respect?” Kon barked a bitter laugh. “You think saying your name once means I don’t respect you? You think it means I don’t see you as a leader? Tim, I see you as everything. That’s the problem!”
Tim froze, the words catching him off guard. His face softened for half a second before hardening again. “Then maybe that’s why it’s not working.”
Kon’s chest rose and fell fast, anger and panic twisting together. “Not working? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can’t keep being your boyfriend and your leader, Kon,” Tim said quietly, voice tight with restraint. “I can’t keep making decisions in the field when I know you’ll always choose me over the mission.”
Kon’s expression cracked. “So what—you regret us? You wanna break up?”
Tim hesitated, jaw flexing. “I knew it would get messy. I knew I’d start caring too much. I knew you would. And I can’t afford that kind of distraction.”
“So you regret me?” Kon asked, voice suddenly low, rough.
“I regret that I let this interfere with my job.”
“That’s not an answer!” Kon’s voice rose again, his frustration boiling over. “Do you want to break up, Tim? Is that what this is about?”
Tim crossed his arms, more to keep his hands from shaking than anything else. “I want you to take this seriously. I want you to treat me like a leader again.”
“I do! But you don’t even see it—every time I look at you, you’re balancing a hundred things in your head, and you act like letting anyone close makes you weak.”
Tim’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Maybe it does.”
Kon stepped closer, eyes blazing. “That’s not strength, Tim—that’s fear. You push people away because it’s easier than admitting you need them.”
“And you ignore rules because it’s easier than facing consequences,” Tim shot back. “We both have our flaws, Kon. The difference is—mine don’t put the team at risk.”
Kon’s nostrils flared. “Oh, right. Because calling you Tim in a moment of panic is such a massive threat to national security.”
Tim glared at him. “It’s about what it represents.”
Kon’s expression shifted—his anger cooled, calcifying into something sharper. “You mean control,” he said slowly. “You don’t care about what it represents. You just hate that I broke your perfect little chain of command. You can’t stand it when something doesn’t fit into your system—when I don’t.”
“Don’t twist this,” Tim said, voice low.
But Kon didn’t stop. His voice was steady now, too calm, too precise. “You talk about leadership, about responsibility—but the truth is, you don’t want teammates. You want subordinates. You don’t trust anyone to think for themselves unless it’s you holding the strings.”
Tim’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”
“Maybe it is.” Kon took a slow step closer, eyes locked on him. “Maybe that’s why you wear a mask even when no one’s looking. You don’t know how to exist without control. Without rules. Without power.”
The words landed like a punch, quiet and devastating.
For a moment, Tim didn’t respond. The air between them was tense, humming with unspoken things—hurt, pride, maybe even fear.
Finally, Tim muttered, “You sound like your father.”
Kon froze. He didn’t need to ask which one; Tim was smart enough to phrase it the way he did, for the words to cut up and under his ribs. His jaw flexed, and something dangerous flickered across his face—hurt twisting into something almost cruel.
“Maybe that’s the only way to get through to you,” Kon said coldly. Then he turned and walked out, the door sliding shut behind him with a low hiss.
—
And that was that.
Kon hadn’t talked to Tim for two weeks.
Not a single text. Not one visit to his apartment. He didn’t even see him at the Tower.
Kon still showed up, still hung out with Bart, still let Cassie tease him about dumb things— his hair, his brooding, the way he pretended everything was fine. They acted like things were normal.
Normal.
But it wasn’t.
Kon hadn’t seen his boyfriend— ex-boyfriend?— of almost a year in two weeks, and it was killing him.
He wanted to reach out, wanted to message him, to fly past the rooftops and just see him— even from a distance. Anything would’ve been better than the silence. The closest he got was visiting a Batburger last week with Bart and Cassie because she was having period cravings, and Kon was not about to argue with her.
But every time he thought about actually seeing or talking to Tim, every time his hand hovered over his phone, he heard it again— that voice, those words.
“You sound like your father.”
It didn’t matter how many times he told himself not to take it personally. It didn’t matter that, logically, he knew half his DNA came from Lex Luthor— deoxyribonucleic acid, he could practically hear Tim say it, clinical and factual. He knew it was true. It was written in his cells, carved into the shape of his hands, the lines of his jaw.
Luthor's blood ran through his veins.
And sometimes, when he caught sight of those veins— bright and sharp under his skin— he’d find himself scratching at them, like he could scrape away the parts of himself that weren’t his. Tim had caught him once, hand halfway up his arm. Tim didn’t say a word, didn’t ask. He’d just reached out, moved Kon’s hand away, and threaded their fingers together.
That memory hurt more than anything else.
“Why are you here?” Lex asked, voice smooth and distant. He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk.
Kon lay on the floor of the office, arms behind his head, staring at the gleaming ceiling— pure lead, shielding the room from any outside scans. The lights above were so harsh they’d make a human squint, but Kon’s eyes didn’t waver. They never did.
“Can’t a kid just want to spend time with his dad?” Kon said, the words were automatic. Usually, he’d throw in a smirk or a wink— some layer of sarcasm to make the whole thing sting less. But not today. His voice came out quiet, almost tired.
Lex hummed faintly. “You do everything in your power to avoid me.”
Kon shrugged, eyes tracing the pattern of lights above him. “That may be right,” he muttered. “But maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Unlike you.”
Lex’s pen stilled against the paper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kon didn’t answer. He just kept staring upward, unblinking. The ceiling lights burned white into his vision until everything felt too bright, too loud.
He wondered if, buried somewhere in his DNA, Lex would feel that same sting Tim’s words left behind.
Because maybe the worst part wasn’t that Tim was wrong. Maybe the worst part was that he wasn’t.
Tears began welling up in Kon’s eyes before he could stop them. One slipped from the corner, sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into his hair, dampening his scalp. Another followed. And another.
“Why are you crying on my floor?” Lex finally asked, looking up from his desk. His tone wasn’t cruel— just bored. Clinical. “Is this a teenager thing? You’re nineteen, your angst phase is over, Kon.”
“Shut up,” Kon muttered, voice cracking halfway through. He bit down hard on his lip, trying to steady himself, but the tears kept falling, stubborn and quiet.
Lex’s brow arched, and he exhaled, setting his pen aside with deliberate patience. “What’s this about?”
“I think my boyfriend broke up with me,” Kon said, the words tumbling out like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.
Lex blinked once. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Not anymore.” Kon’s laugh was small and bitter, his hands lifting in defeat. “Because I’m too much like you.”
“Oh.” Lex turned back to his papers without missing a beat. “Well, that’s his problem, not mine.”
Kon sniffled, watching the man’s perfectly steady hands move across the page— so detached, so methodical, it made something in him ache.
“Why did you have Cadmus make me?” he asked suddenly, voice thick from crying.
Lex didn’t even look up. “You already know why,” he said easily. “To replace Superman. To create something superior.” He paused briefly, as if choosing his words. “And now you waltz in here to cry on my floor. Or ask for another credit card. It’s always one or the other.”
Kon sat up, dragging a sleeve across his wet face. “I ask for credit cards a lot, huh?”
“It’s because you break them,” Lex said simply.
“It’s the machines!”
“Not according to the cameras.”
Kon groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever! You suck, you know that?”
Lex didn’t even look offended. “So I’ve been told,” he said mildly, returning to his work.
Kon stared at him for a long moment— at the expensive suit, the pristine desk, the way nothing about Lex Luthor ever seemed moved by anything. Not even by his crying clone-son lying on the damn floor.
“You don’t care about anyone, do you?” Kon said quietly.
Lex didn’t look up, but a faint, amused smile ghosted across his face. “That’s not true. I care about results.”
Just as Kon began to push himself off the floor, Lex stood, his chair sliding back with a soft scrape. He walked around his desk, every movement deliberate, composed— like he was approaching a specimen rather than his son.
“How long have you been dating this boy?”
Kon hesitated, eyes fixed on the floor. “About a year. In a couple of weeks.” His voice was quiet, frayed around the edges.
“I see,” Lex said, pacing slowly. “I did notice your statistics drastically improved over the past year. Combat accuracy, reaction time, mission efficiency— all trending upward.” He rubbed a hand down his face, thinking. “He improves your results.”
Kon let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Be ready to be disappointed again.”
Lex’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable. “What’s his name?”
Kon’s shoulders tensed. He looked up, just for a moment— then away again. He could feel it, that tight coil in his throat, the sting of Tim, the weight of the name he’d been trying not to think about for two weeks. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady as he stood.
“Fine,” Lex said with a lazy shrug, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Be on your merry little super way.” He waved him off like a bored monarch dismissing a servant.
Kon rolled his eyes and turned toward the window, the tension in his chest pressing hard against his ribs. He bent his knees, ready to take off— but something stopped him mid-step. He turned back, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.
“Can I... get another credit card?” he muttered, his voice small.
Lex didn’t even sigh. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black card, already embossed with Kon’s alias. “I saw the last one broke at Batburger last week,” he said, tone almost offhand. “You’re in Gotham far more often than anyone likes.”
Kon blinked. “I like being there—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I liked being there.”
He took the card and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket without another word.
Lex didn’t say anything else. He just watched, arms folded, as Kon stepped to the window and launched himself into the cold evening sky.
The wind rushed past his face, drying the last of his tears. But no matter how high he flew, Gotham still pulled at him— a gravity he couldn’t escape, no matter how far he tried to get from it.
—
Two weeks and three days now.
Kon still hadn’t reached out. He skimmed their old texts until the letters blurred, rolled through call logs like they might rearrange themselves into an apology, and listened to his heartbeat the way someone listens for a distant storm.
He couldn’t sleep in his bed at the Tower— too many memories lived there: Tim’s shoulder under his head, the smell of Tim’s shampoo on the pillow, the soft glow of a phone left face-up on the nightstand. So, for two weeks and three days, whenever he was too tired to fly home, he curled up on the Titans’ couch and pretended he was fine.
“So— how’s Tim?”
Kara was the first to ask because, of course, she was. It was the first time in three weeks they didn’t have patrol, and Kara had insisted on lunch like it would fix everything.
“What?” Kon said, staring into his overpriced soda as if it might hold answers.
“I asked how Tim’s doing. Your one-year is coming up, right?” She popped a fry into her mouth and watched him with that open, probing concern she always had.
Kon blinked, swallowed, and fought the prick of tears behind his eyes.
“Are you about to start crying in this Big Belly Burger?” Kara half-laughed, half-scolded, eyebrows knitting. “I know it’s an emotional milestone, but—”
“I think he broke up with me,” Kon whispered, small and honest—only super-hearing could catch him if anyone nearby listened hard enough.
Kara’s container of fries clattered onto the tray. “What? What happened? What do you mean, ‘you think’?” Her voice went sharp; the red at the edges of her eyes gave her away.
He swallowed. The words came out like they were being pulled from someplace deep in his chest. “We argued after a mission. There was a second wave of explosions—I panicked and called him Tim over comms. He snapped at me for using his civilian name, said I didn’t respect him. I tried to explain, but I said things I shouldn’t have. He told me he knew he’d regret our relationship. I implied he was a control freak, power hungry, and… that’s when he said I sounded like Lex.” He closed his eyes; the memory of that quiet, cutting sentence shivered across his skin. “It’s been two weeks and three days since I’ve spoken to or seen him.”
Kara’s face pinched—anger, worry, then fierce protectiveness. “He said that to you?” she asked again, quieter, but the breath she exhaled was full of nails. “I don’t care how much green K he has, I will kill him.”
“Don’t do that.” Kon’’s voice was quiet. “I thought maybe he’d cool off, but—nothing. I keep waiting for him to blow up my phone, and he hasn’t. I’m… I’m terrified I pushed him away for good.”
“That’s not fair, Kon. Not to you. Not to him.” She sucked her teeth, thinking. “Look—he shouldn’t have used Lex as a weapon, not when he knows what that does to you. But you said things you knew would hurt him, too. So it’s not just one side here, but it doesn’t make what he said okay.”
“But maybe he’s right. Maybe I am too much like Lex. Maybe I hurt the people I love and jeopardize missions. Maybe there’s a part of me that doesn’t see him as a leader because of Lex’s blood in my veins.”
Kara paused, then reached across the table and grabbed his hand—firm, steady. Her fingers were warm, anchoring. “Listen to me,” she said in that fierce calm she used when she was steadying falling buildings. “Yes, you have Luthor blood. That’s true. But you are not Lex. You’re you. You love people. You feel. You make mistakes because you care too much.”
He wanted to tell her that Tim’s words had burrowed into him, that the part of him that liked to be impulsive and his cleverness had always felt like an inheritance he couldn’t refuse. He wanted to say that sometimes being kind felt like weakness, and he hated it.
But he only squeezed her hand back; the small pressure was confession enough.
Kon looked up, eyes wet and uncertain.
“You should talk to him,” Kara said, her voice softening. “Face to face. Not over text, not through comms, not in the middle of a rooftop mission. You love him, Kon. And if he loves you—which, let’s be real, he does—you’ll work it out. Just… don’t keep punishing yourself like this.”
Kon exhaled shakily, staring at his untouched burger. “You think he’ll even want to talk to me?”
Kara nudged his foot under the table. “If he doesn’t, I’ll drag him here myself. But try asking first, okay?”
Kon laughed weakly through the tears. “You sound like Clark.”
“Please, I’m way scarier,” Kara smirked, then softened. “I’m here for you, Kon-El. Always.”
—
So he listened to Kara.
He texted Tim with shaky fingers the moment he got back to the tower, his chest pounding loud enough to drown out every rational thought. His blood—his, not Lex’s, not Clark’s—pulsed hot and human through his veins as he typed the message.
Brief. Simple. Maybe a little vague: ‘Meet me at our spot tonight, please.’
He didn’t dress up. Didn’t try to hide the exhaustion carved into his body or the stiffness in his muscles. He flew to the roof of the tower in sweatpants with a few holes in the knees and a shirt he’d cropped himself—well, technically, Cassie had cropped it for him after teasing that Kon couldn’t cut in a straight line to save his life.
He sat with his legs dangling over the edge, watching the sea ripple below. The moon’s reflection wavered across the dark water, fractured and quiet.
Then he heard it— Tim’s heartbeat. That steady, familiar rhythm he could’ve picked out anywhere. The soft scuff of sneakers followed, and the faint scent of coffee and energy drinks trailed behind him like gravity.
Tim didn’t say anything when he sat down next to him. He just stared out at the sea, his fingers curling over the edge of the roof a little tighter than Kon’s.
Kon didn’t look over right away. He could feel Tim’s eyes on him, though—like heat against his cheek, like something pressing just under his ribs.
He tuned in again to Tim’s pulse, fast and uneven, and finally turned.
Tim was dressed the way he always was on nights off patrol—gym shorts that hung loose at his knees, and one of Kon’s shirts. A plain black band tee Kon had thought he lost or accidentally torn up. The domino mask still covered his face, hiding his eyes, but Kon could see it in the details—the sharper angles of his cheeks, the mess of hair at the back of his head, the strands falling into his face.
“Robin…” Kon started, the word catching halfway out. His hand twitched upward, instinctively wanting to brush the hair from Tim’s eyes, but he pulled it back before he could. He looked off toward the water again. “We have to talk.”
“I don’t want to break up.”
The words fell out of Tim’s mouth like they’d been waiting there the whole time.
Kon blinked rapidly. “You… you don’t?” His voice cracked with disbelief. “Not even after what I said?”
“After what you said? Kon, did you even hear half the shit I said?” Tim’s voice broke through the sound of waves below, rough with exhaustion and emotion.
Kon gave a small shrug, almost helpless. “Yeah, but you only said it because of what I did and said, and I mean… you’re right. His blood is in me,” he muttered, the words catching in his throat.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I regretted it the moment it came out,” Tim said, his voice softer now. “You’re not him, you’ve never been him. You’re you. You’re so perfectly you, and I should’ve never compared you.” His fingers twitched, then reached out, brushing against Kon’s knuckles. “I’m so sorry, Kon.”
Kon stared at their joined hands for a second before whispering, “Can you… Take off your mask, please? I want to see you.”
Tim hesitated. The air between them tightened before he finally reached up, fingers trembling as he peeled the mask off. Bits of adhesive clung stubbornly to the skin around his eyes.
Kon’s breath hitched. The usual bright blue eyes he loved were dull, and the eyelids he loved pressing soft kisses to were slightly sunken in. The dark circles he liked to make fun of, but loved when he helped them fade, had come back even darker.
“Oh, Tim…” he murmured, tilting his head, voice breaking on the name.
Tim looked away, his lashes low, hair shielding him like armor. “I can’t function thinking you hate me,” he admitted quietly. “I know it’d be justified if you did. I know I said some awful things. You have every reason not to want to be with me, and I am so, so sorry, Kon-El.”
Kon reached out before he could overthink it, his hand cupping Tim’s jaw. His thumb brushed against rough skin and faint stubble as he gently turned Tim’s face back toward him. “Tim,” he said softly, “I’m sorry too. I don’t want to break up either. I thought you did. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I shouldn’t have called you your civilian name in the field. I get it now. I get why that hurt you.”
Tim’s eyes flickered with something between relief and guilt. “I wanted to shout your name too,” he admitted. “But… my identity, it’s—” he exhaled shakily. “It’s not just mine. It’s something that could hurt my whole family, and it could jeopardize everyone I care about.” His gaze softened. “That includes you.”
Kon’s hand stayed on Tim’s jaw, his thumb tracing over the faint stubble there like he was trying to memorize it. His breath caught before he finally spoke.
“You said it’s something that can hurt everyone you love,” he murmured. “But, Tim… I hurt people just by existing.”
Tim frowned, soft confusion mixing with concern.
Kon looked away, his voice breaking in places. “Lex made me to replace someone else. To be better, to be perfect. But I’m not him, and I’m not Clark either. I don’t even know who I am half the time.” He laughed under his breath, bitterly. “Sometimes I look in the mirror and all I see are their shadows stitched together. Maybe I am not able to be loved the way you want to love me.”
Tim’s breath hitched, but he didn’t interrupt.
“It’s like—” Kon stopped, trying to find the right words. “It’s like no matter what I do, there’s always something missing. Something cracked. I can’t ever feel…” He swallowed hard. “Whole.”
The word hung there, raw and quiet, like it didn’t want to echo.
Tim’s eyes softened, that sharp detective focus dissolving into something human, something tender. “Kon,” he whispered.
“I keep trying to build myself out of pieces that don’t fit,” Kon went on, his hands trembling now. “And when you said I sounded like Lex, it just—” He shook his head. “It reminded me that maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I’m doomed to turn into him, no matter how hard I fight it.”
Tim reached up, covering Kon’s shaking hand with his own. “You’re not him,” he said firmly. “You never were.”
Kon let out a broken laugh. “Tell that to the part of me that’s made from him.”
“I would,” Tim said, squeezing his hand. “I’d tell every cell of you if I could. I love you, Conner Kent.”
Kon’s breath faltered. He stared at their joined hands, the way Tim’s fingers fit perfectly against his, grounding him. “You don’t get it. I’m made wrong. It’s like I’m trying to hold myself together with crappy glue, and every time I start to think maybe I’m whole, someone reminds me I’m not supposed to exist.”
Tim’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “You do exist. You matter. You’re not broken because of them. You’re a person because you made yourself into one.”
Kon blinked hard, a tear slipping down his cheek before he could stop it. “It’s hard to ever feel like one when I am not supposed to be alive.”
Tim didn’t argue. He just pulled Kon closer, resting their foreheads together, both of them breathing the same uneven rhythm.
“I am the luckiest person because I get to love you. I hate Lex Luthor, but a part of me appreciates the part of him that allowed you to come into this world. I am grateful that you are alive, Kon, in however many pieces you need to be in, I will love every part.”
Kon leaned forward and hugged Tim, words failing him. Tim squeezed him back, his fingers threading through the fabric of Kon’s shirt like he was holding the world together with touch alone.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the city below and the ocean brushing against the shore far beneath the tower. The wind tugged softly at Tim’s hair, carried the scent of salt and night air between them.
When Kon finally pulled back, his hands stayed on Tim’s shoulders, steady but trembling. The moonlight caught the wet edges of his lashes, and for once, he didn’t try to hide it.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the words raw but sure.
Tim didn’t say anything—he just looked at him, eyes open and unguarded. It was enough.
Kon leaned in slowly, giving Tim every chance to pull away. He didn’t. Their lips met—gentle, hesitant at first, then sure, the kind of kiss that wasn’t about wanting, but about knowing, about loving.
It wasn’t perfect. It was soft and shaky and full of breath, but it was real.
When they parted, their foreheads met again, both of them smiling faintly through the exhaustion.
“I love you,” Kon murmured.
“I know,” Tim said quietly, a small, tired grin tugging at his lips. “I love you too.”
Above them, the stars flickered faintly against the night, and for the first time in weeks, Kon felt something close to whole.