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Jon had a lot to thank Kon for. Simple things like teaching him to play the guitar, or that time he spent two whole days of his week at his grandparents' farm teaching Jon how to drive the old car that Clark and he himself had learned to drive so many years ago.
Jon was also grateful for more complex, complicated things that perhaps neither of them would say out loud anytime soon: like taking him in at his apartment after Jon decided to simply not apply to college and run away to Gotham with Kon to try to figure out what to do with his life. Well, maybe Jon was exaggerating by calling it running away, because it certainly wasn't if his parents knew about it; he even said goodbye to them with his bags packed, but the point is that it felt like it.
And Jon was grateful that Kon had chosen to have a huge window with a glass door right in front of the tattoo parlor. One that looked directly across the sidewalk and allowed him to see the store in front of the parlor, with windows that allowed a view of the various flowers and plants inside.
And even better?
The florist.
Jon couldn't get enough of him: tall and slim, broad shoulders that easily lifted boxes and sacks and pots.
From that distance, Jon couldn't fully notice all the details he would have liked to, such as the color of his eyes or his smile, nor could he hear his voice.
“Jon, are you listening to me?”
The familiar voice snapped him out of his trance, causing him to jump in his office chair and push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, turning quickly with a squeak of “Yes!” that earned him a raised eyebrow from Kon. Which led the older man to turn his head toward the window, fixing his gaze just across the street where the florist was watering the flowerpots outside.
“Sure...” Kon dragged out his words, sounding unconvinced but still more amused than annoyed. “As I was saying.” The man continued, and Jon had to use all his willpower not to turn back to the window once more.
Jon felt like Kon talked for hours, even if it was just a couple of things Jon needed to write down and some appointments to review for that day.
“You were really drooling.”
Kon said with some mockery shortly after finishing speaking, watching Jon open his planner to the date of the day.
“What?”
Jon asked, looking up from the pages quickly enough that a few loose curls looked like black smudges before falling back over his face.
“You were drooling, little man.” Kon teased, leaning against the desk and lifting a gloved hand to give Jon’s nose a little poke that made him wrinkle it.
“I wasn't drooling.” Jon defended himself, crossing his arms and leaning back against the office chair with the slightest of pouts. “I was just... thinking.”
“Thinking about the flower shop guy.”
Kon counters with a response that only years of online games, banter, and teasing friends could have given him. His comment elicits a mortified sound from Jon.
“I wasn’t—!” Jon squealed, and the other man rolled his eyes with a smile on his lips.
“Sure, whatever you say Superstar.” If Jon pouted more noticeably, Kon was unfazed, ruffling his younger brother's curly, fluffy hair with the same hand that had pinched his nose just moments before. “Come on, back to work. You have a customer in half an hour.”
Jon nodded firmly, smiling a little as he watched Kon push himself off the edge of the desk before following him with his gaze as he walked to the back room to help him sanitize the workstation.
Jon's gaze turned back to the window when Kon disappeared through the door frame leading to the back, and to his misfortune, the florist was no longer there.
The younger man ran a hand through his curls, trying to fix the mess Kon left behind before sighing and standing up to follow him to the back room.
…
“You want me to do what?”
Jon asked, looking at Kon with a confused look on his face.
“Come on, little man, I need it.” Kon said, clasping his hands together and making a pleading gesture. “Tim and I have our second anniversary this Friday, and I really need that order done soon! Be a good brother, please?” Kon asked, his knees bent and his hands still clasped together. Jon was sure the man could fall to his knees and beg him to do it, he means... Anything for Tim. Jon means it, he's seen it firsthand in the past.
Jon hadn't understood the feeling at the time, the desire to do anything for someone you looked at with love.
But now?
Jon might have known what it felt like now... And Jon didn't even know him.
He didn't even know if he loved him. Maybe he was just his type? Jon didn't know, he'd never had a type.
Sure, he'd dated a couple of girls before, and maybe he'd come to terms with his bisexuality a couple of months ago after a good, half-drunk chat with Kon while they were playing cards.
Don't let his parents find out about that.
The drunkenness, he means. His parents had accepted Kon easily, just as they had accepted him moving to Gotham and pursuing his passion for art and tattoos.
Just as they had accepted Jon moving with him to that godforsaken city to try to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.
Jon had no doubt that Clark and Lois would accept whoever he brought home as long as they didn't seem like some kind of bad influence or something.
“Sure.”
Jon gave in, his mouth speaking before his brain had really processed the implications of the request, and Kon didn't let him back out because as soon as he agreed, Kon smiled at him, big and bright as only a Kent can do.
“You're the best Superstar!” the man squealed with excitement, a rather strange sound coming from him, but Jon's mind didn't process it at the time.
Something was wrong here.
“I have to get ready for an appointment, but I’ll send you the details, okay?” Kon said, already walking away toward the back room. “Thanks Jon, I love you, you’re the best!” Kon babbled the words and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared before the younger man at the store’s front desk.
Jon just nodded, raising his eyebrows and letting out a little sound that resembled a rather pleased hum.
...
Jon is going to kill him.
Jon is going to kill him because this is how he meets the florist for the first time, and Jon isn't sure if he'll be able to speak.
Especially because he stupidly tried to push a door that clearly said PULL... And the florist saw him.
So Jon pulls it open and makes his walk of shame to the front of the counter where the florist is waiting for him, dressed in a green apron and wearing a calm expression as if Jon hadn't seen him stifle a laugh in his hand when Jon crashed into the glass door.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you today?”
Jon struggles not to shudder, because the voice caresses his ears and sends a chill down his spine from top to bottom.
Suddenly Jon feels very warm.
“Good—uh—good afternoon. I was here to place an order?”
Jon fights against the words that threaten to get stuck in his throat. He has always considered himself quite good at talking to people; he can't remember ever stuttering in his life.
Except now, of course.
Jon is almost certain it's because of the man in front of him, especially those vibrant green eyes that rest on him and the scent of cologne that Jon perceives in his nose.
“A basket? A bouquet? What do you have in mind?” The man asks, reaching under the counter for a notebook and pen.
“A basket, uh... Here.” Jon rummages through the pockets of his sweatshirt, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper that Kon had given him.
Kon was creative, he always had been, and it came as no surprise to Jon that his older brother already had an idea for a gift for his boyfriend. Probably delicately planned, with flowers that Tim liked, something aesthetically pleasing, or perhaps something involving flower language that Jon didn't understand.
“Prepared guy, I can see that.” The florist hummed, reaching for the folded paper Jon was offering him and taking it. If their hands brushed then, neither said anything.
Jon watched him unfold the sheet before examining whatever was inside, which he hadn't really bothered to check when Kon handed it to him. But Jon watched him raise a thick eyebrow.
“It must be someone very special, it's a lovely idea,” the man says, and Jon blinks slowly in silence. “Is it your anniversary or something?”
Jon swallows hard and quickly shakes his head.
“It's from my brother, for his boyfriend.”
He says, and doesn't know what prompts him to gesture over his shoulder and toward the tattoo parlor.
“Oh, you're Kon's brother.” He says casually, and Jon dares to notice that he says it with some disinterest, as if he was giving the weather or the time.
“Do you know him?”
“Regular customer, likes to surprise his boyfriend with bouquets every now and then. He explains, and Jon nods silently. “Same address, I guess? Wayne Enterprises.” Jon nods dumbly, watching him write in his notebook in beautiful cursive.
Jon ends up giving him the date, looking around the store while the other continues to write because Jon feels, and knows, that staring is quite rude.
But how could he help it? With that short, pretty straight hair and olive skin that Jon bets is warm, or those broad shoulders or those strong arms he's dying to touch.
Get a grip, Jonathan!
His gaze wanders around the shop, just a little, but it settles just behind the counter where he finds an easel and a canvas with some smudges and guide lines, as well as a palette and several brushes.
He doesn't ask, it's none of his business.
“Alright, it's done. Order for Tim Drake at Wayne Enterprises next Friday.”
Jon jumps in place, snapped out of his thoughts by the other man's voice, who is now looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Um, yeah, yeah.” Jon stammers, rummaging in his back pocket for his wallet and pulling out his card to pay.
The payment is made, the receipt is issued, and Jon puts it away with his card, knowing that means he has to leave now.
I don't even know his name.
“Jon.”
He blurts out suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
I'm an idiot.
“My name is Jon, I mean,” he stammers, running a hand through his dark curls. “I thought—Well, you know my brother, and I'm pretty sure he knows you. I just thought—”
“Damian.”
Jon blinks, large sapphire eyes meeting bright emeralds.
“My name is Damian, I mean.”
The florist, Damian, mimics Jon's words and tone with a calm, slightly serious expression, but Jon doesn't miss the very slight movement of one of the corners of his lips.
I shouldn't be staring at his mouth so much.
“Nice to meet you, Damian.”
Jon smiles at him, and for a moment Damian wonders if he's looking directly at the sun or something, because it's the biggest, brightest smile he's ever been given.
He feels a little dazzled.
And the slight blush on the other man's cheeks doesn't help at all.
Damian wonders if this is how Tim feels every time he sees Kon.
“Yeah... The pleasure is all mine.”
...
When Kon sees Jon come back into the parlor with a bright smile and a little skip in his step, he knows he's done the right thing.
And when Damian sends him a very nice message saying: “You can always order by text or call, your brother made a fool of himself by bumping into the front door”, he knows that Jon made a strong enough impression for Damian to consider sending him a message.
Now Kon just has to watch how everything unfolds instead of watching his brother gaze longingly through the window.
Kon is the best big brother.
And Jon has a lot to thank him for.