It’d been a dark fifteen days, eight hours, thirty seven minutes and forty four seconds for both you and Dick, since you had to be apart from each other. Your boyfriend had been out because he’d been called by Bruce to help transfer the Joker, Scarecrow and the Riddler to the rebuilt Arkham Asylum, and it’d killed him to leave you. Murdered him dead.

He’d longed to hold you, cuddle you, fuck you like he did before he left — “You’re such a drama queen,” said Jason, but fuck him, especially when his gorgeous girl was worried sick about him and he couldn’t call cause he had to be concentrated on the clock to call you.

Now Dick was back, after a long fifteen days, eight hours, thirty seven minutes and forty four seconds — fuck off, who’s counting — and felt relieved to step into your shared big-ass apartment again, seeing you immediately and stepping towards you at lightning speed. “God, sweetheart.” He breathed in relief as he scooped you into his arms.

He’d never felt more alive, absolutely never.

Dick pressed kiss after kiss to whatever he could reach, his hand on the back of your head, cradling you to him. “That’s my girl.” He murmured, a soaring feeling in his chest, because he could hold the love of his life again. Suck on that, Jason.

Fifteen days, eight hours, thirty seven minutes and forty four seconds, but then again, who’s counting?