---- From chapter 3, Text Me Back ----

D: Take me to museums and make out with me
W: But they said not to touch the masterpieces
D: Dude

----

Dick's coffee was cold. The mug was stiff and glassy between his hands. He felt a strong wave of misery disproportionate to the real inconvenience of the small disappointment wash over him, making his stomach roll and head ache.

He hadn't even taken a single sip. He hadn't even wanted it, really. He didn't like the coffee here.

There was music playing, drifting through the air. One of the background characters asked someone else, "How are you doing? How is work?" loud enough that it stood out over the whir of the espresso machine and endless conveyor belt of people ordering. The strong scent of coffee was starting to make him nauseous, overpowered and mixed in with the curling sent of the textbooks piled on the table behind him.

Oh, yeah, he remembered. It was exam season. No wonder Wally was busy.

He looked down to stare at his reflection in the brown drink staining the hard glass mug. The corners of his lips were pulled down into a frown, but most of his expression was hidden behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. He looked miserable. That explains why the servers had been avoiding him.

He angled his gaze back out the window, looking past the reflection of his unhappy, slouched over form and the jazz band posters and adds plastered to the glass, focusing instead on the building across the street from the coffee-shop he was loitering in.

It was a tall, cement building, not at all out of place between the skyscrapers and office buildings of downtown Gotham, possibly the grayest, dullest building in the city. But Dick knew both from experience and the jagged letters sticking out from the sheer surface above the front doors what dwelled inside. He finally gave in to the urge to text Wally.

D: Take me to museums and make out with me

He steeled himself to be ignored- Wally was probably studying- or shut down. Wally didn't like him like that, and Dick kicked himself for being so obvious, hoped Wally would interpret it as their usual flirty-banter.

His phone buzzed loudly, and whoever was studying at the table behind him sighed in defeat. Honestly, he felt a little bad for distracting them.

W: But they said not to touch the masterpieces

Dick felt his face heat up as he thought about Wally, all the way in Central City, probably laying on his bed with a textbook propped open in front of him. He'd responded so fast, was he waiting for Dick to message?

Dick shook his head and reached for his coffee, drowning half of the cold, disgusting liquid in one swallow. Wally flirted like that with everyone, he was just joking around, and even if he had been wanting Dick to text him, it was only because he was studying and wanted an excuse to stop.

D: Dude

Dick messaged back, going for fondly-exasperated, coaching his face back to its normal shade of pale white rather than a burning red.

"So, are you paying or..." A voice from in front of Dick trailed off, and he looked up to find Wally stretched out in the booth like he'd been there the whole time.

Dick cursed in his head as he felt his mood lift, Wally's meer presence outshining his depressing thoughts, despite the fact that Wally was the main reason behind his sorrow in the first place. Wally gave him a little half-grin, showing off his sharp canine teeth when Dick looked up in dull alarm, and Dick fell a little more in love with him.

He didn't have to pay; he owned the museum, the name WAYNE in all-caps underneath Art Gallery right above the front door.

"I'll pay," Dick said back, hearing his voice but not sounding like himself, "but you'll owe me your soul."

Wally nodded, seemed to think about it, and reached across the table to grab Dick's half-empty coffee cup. Dick thought about stopping him but only watched with brewing amusement as Wally took a large gulp of the liquid and immediately recoiled, forcing himself to swallow. He brought the cup back from his lips and a part of Dick's mind screamed 'indirect kiss!' as Wally looked at the cup like it had personally betrayed him.

He said, "I can give you 44%" and Dick remembered they were supposed to be negotiating.

"I won't go any lower than 90," Dick stated, watching as Wally rolled the cup between his hands. The cafe was getting busier around them, and the tables had started to fill up and empty faster. A few servers gave them side glances, urging them to leave, but Dick didn't even notice.

Wally wrinkled his nose adorably, knowing he had no hope of winning and seemed to decide to take what he could get, "83 and no higher."

Dick pretended to contemplate it, then nodded his head a few times, "Deal."

They reached across the table to shake hands, and Dick tried not to think about how much bigger Wally's hands were, or how hot they felt against his skin, warmed from Central City's damn-near perfect weather.

Wally slid out of the booth but didn't let go of Dick's hand, pausing only long enough for Dick to set a hundred-dollar bill under the coffee mug as a tip before he was dragging the younger with him out of the coffee shop and into the street.

Wally weaved between the slow-moving cars stuck in the afternoon lunch-hour traffic with an ease that meant he had been spending too much time in Gotham. A taxi honked at them as they crossed in front of it, but Dick was so focused on keeping his footing solid and not getting distracted by Wally's hand in his own that he didn't even hear the grating sound.

They didn't slow until they pushing open the doors of the art gallery. The person who had walked in before them had let the door swing shut on them in true Gothamite fashion. Wally, however, stepped to the side and held the door for a women leaving. Dick silently took back his "too much time in Gotham" thought; you could practically smell the Central City on Wally.

Dick paid the admission fee with his centurion card and Wally rolled his eyes, a fond little small playing on his lips.

They wandered from room to room and back again, Wally lazily inquiring about the prices of a few pieces in a posh tone, just to fuck with Dick, and Dick having to slap Wally's hands away from a statue more than once.

And every new room they entered, every spotlight lite painting they passed, their fingers laced together, Dick quietly thought 'kiss me.'

'Kiss me,' like a mantra

'Kiss me between the paintings.'

"Kiss me."

Dick's gaze lifted from the ground, watching where he was walking but not where he was going, turning to Wally, rising up chest, his shoulders, getting stuck on his lips, still parted to make room for his words, and finally his eyes.

"I- what?" Dick asked, suddenly aware of his legs, his arms, his tongue. His cold-coffee breathe, his still-healing, aching ribs.

"Kiss me," Wally said again, just as sure and just as stupid.

"Why?" Dick felt his voice try to say, only Wally wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking over his shoulder, eyes focused on something. Dick turned around, too, and found a mounted camera pointed at them, and three others pointed in other directions, one for each wall. There was little timer next to it with big, digital falling numbers. 13, 12, 11...

Dick looked beyond Wally and found the entire wall to be a canvas, silhouette after silhouette spanning the lengths of every wall. Some were high-fiving, others embracing, or holding hands, some of the figures were fat, short, others skinny or tall. One was holding a baby, propped up on his hip. There was the outline of two women, their hands intertwined. There was one blank space left, and Wally and Dick were standing in front of it, enough space for the two of them to fit between the other shadows on each side, but only if they were chest-to-chest.

On the wall above the door they had wandered in through, the words "Love Is Shapeless" were painted in pretty black lettering.

Oh. He had read about this exhibit. He remembers thinking it was actually really cool, but he's not sure how he feels about it now that he's wandered into the middle of it.

Dick swallowed, watched the counter out of the corner of his eye- 10, 9, 8- and tried to avoid looking right at Wally.

Wally, who was fiercely backtracking, "I mean, you don't have to, obviously, I didn't mean to make a demand or anything, I, uh, just thought it would be cool if we finished the... thing."

Dick tasted blood and realized he'd been biting his lip. Wally looked so good, tall and stumbling over his words, asking Dick to kiss him. The collar of his plaid shirt was folded wrong on one side, and his hair stood out a fierce red in the white of the room.

Dick reached forward to fix his collar. They were standing far apart enough that he had to lean, and Wally was tall enough that he was forced to rise onto his tiptoes. He only meant to flip the collar back into place, but he found himself moving closer than he meant to, higher.

Wally didn't move, but Dick saw his throat move as he swallowed his words back and flexed his hands at his sides. They were so, so close. All Dick would have to do is tilt his head up the slightest bit and their lips would brush together.

Only Dick couldn't move. Anxiety and doubt and cold, shitty coffee kept him frozen in place. Wally wouldn't move, not sure enough in the feelings between them to impose his touch on Dick when it wasn't wanted.

The camera shuddered like a child lost in a snowstorm, loud and horribly, and Dick felt the tendrils of regret slide up his spine and wrap around his bones tightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the mirror image of their position on the wall, without any of the details or emotions. No matter who looked at it, no one would ever be able to see the context.

He was leaning so far forward that to return to flat feet he had to brace his hands on Wally's shoulders and push himself away. He didn't move.

Wally's eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, and Dick's entire body prickled, and the regret gripped his bones a little tighter, manipulated his body until he was shoving himself out of Wally's space.

Wally blinked, and something like confusion flashed across his face, but it was gone in a second and he was grinning.

"See?" He said, a little too loudly, "told you it would be cool."

"You wouldn't know cool if it bit you in the ass."

"Has anyone ever told you that your face doesn't match your personality? You seem so young and kind until you open your mouth."

Wally crossed his arms with the same mock-pout on his face from when Dick didn't let him win at Mortal Combat.

"Mean? Me? Never," he said, the words bubbling up from his hollow chest. Easy, it was so easy. They were best friends, Dick told himself, why was he making this so hard? Suddenly, he would've given anything to go back twenty seconds and kiss Wally while he had the chance.

Wally choked on a laugh like he hadn't been expecting Dick to sound so sincere and his laughter had caught him by surprise. He didn't say anything, though, just shook his head and let quiet chuckles rock his shoulders as he trailed out of the room, knowing Dick was close behind.

----

The painting is huge. It's at least 72"x48", a whole section of the blank walls around it cleared away to nothing just to display it properly. It's an oil painting, bright reds and blues blending together from either side of the canvas.

In the painting, two far-off blurry figures walk down a street, tall, autumn-coloured trees on one side, and bright water on the other, washing into the street and reaching out to the trees.

Dick wasn't big on art, but he recognized the painting on sight. They both did. He just hadn't expected to see any of Barbara's art displayed anywhere since she usually kept it all locked up in her studio.

They'd been fighting over how to- hypothetically- steal it for the last ten minutes.

"Why bother sneaking around? We could just kill all the guards and search their corpses for the keycards. That'd save us a lot of time."

Wally sighed, loudly, at Dick's disagreeable stance, "But if we were to kill the guards then we'd have to cover up each murder, and if one of us makes a mistake we're both screwed."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick says, louder than he meant to, and the curator that had been listening in, trying to figure out what they were talking about for some time looked less intrigued and more suspicious.

"You know what?" Dick goes on, watching the curator out of the corner of his eye, "Maybe I'll just steal it without you!"

"You wouldn't do that." Dick can hear Wally's eyes narrow.

"I would."

"Oh, goddammit, you would." Wally's getting better at acting, Dick notes. Even Dick was close to believing that the frustration in his voice was real.

Someone clears their throat and they both turn to look at the curator at the same time, snapping "What?!" in such angry unison that it put any arguing couple to shame. The curator blinks, taken aback, and Dick almost feels bad for him.

The curator furrows his brows, probably having not been yelled at by anyone but his mother in his life, and finds his voice, "I'm going to have to ask you to exit the building." The older man raises a challenging eyebrow, the threat of calling security hanging over them.

Dick does feel bad for the man, then. He probably thinks he has some sort of real authority or power, and while sure if he was talking to any normal civilian they might be intimidated, but Dick and Wally aren't exactly normal.

Dick leans against the wall, dangerously close to the art but with silent care not to disrupt it, and decides that it's been too long since he's been thrown out of a public establishment.

The tall, skinny curator scowls and takes long, light steps to the nearest wall with a phone next to it. He uses a key dangling around his neck to unlock the glass case protecting the phone from troublesome citizens like Dick and Wally.

"You know, I don't even think art galleries in Central have security," Wally says, leaning against the wall next to Dick and leaning down a little so he can mumble his words close to Dick's ear.

"What did you expect?" Dick asks, "This is Gotham."

"I-" Wally starts, then breaks off, "yeah ok, fair point."

The curator hangs up the phone with a clatter and turns back to them stiffly. They get thrown out after two hours and, because Dick was involved, it's a trending moment on Twitter almost instantly.

Dick holds on to the moment, bittersweet in the way he finally got to hear Wally say "kiss me," and promises himself he won't let it be the last time.