ATLAS: HEART, tim drake

you be the parachute

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you're more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same.

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don't mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. "I don't think we'll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do."

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept.

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren't sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it's for, though. It's a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It's a birthday gift, though you've been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven't found out what yet.

"So?" you prompt.

"What are you going to do?"

"Not sure, to be honest. But for you... I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff."

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table.

You smile. "Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?"

"It can't be that hard," he says.

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you've noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit... arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still.

"I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —" he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face "— but it really isn't as easy as it may seem."

"Well, I have you," he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

"Alright, fine," you mumble. You don't try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

"I want to make a mug," he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay.

"Alright —"

"For you," he adds, and you jolt.

"You don't need to —"

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies.