Terrible Season 2 Feels - Unused folders and phone apps
He hadn’t really said No outright – but then, he hadn’t really said anything much at all. In some ways that was worse, because he could sense the disappointment, the hardness behind the cowl. All that thick black that he realized recently he wasn’t so sure he could penetrate anymore. He scowled, and grabbed the short, fluffy sweatshirt from his Gotham Academy days that he’d long since grown out of, stuffing it haphazardly into his duffel bag. He wasn’t even really paying attention anymore.
He was moving out of Wayne manor tonight.
It hadn’t been an easy decision – not by any means. But he was stifled and tired and afterwards, after that – he didn’t think he would be able to hang around any longer. He knew he hadn’t overstayed his welcome; quite the opposite in fact. But he needed to learn to stretch his wings and fly, and leave all those aching, empty, clawing moments behind.
His hands shuffled through the mess on his desk, and without realizing it, they closed around a slim, metal oblong. He shook the mess of papers and angrily thrown clothing, and pulled out his old, grey phone. He smiled, haltingly and sad. Bruce had gotten him this phone when he started at Gotham Academy. He hadn’t even really felt he needed it – it wasn’t like he didn’t have a multitude of other ways to contact him – but Bruce had felt in the interest of ‘normalcy’ that he should have one nonetheless.
He’d done nothing more than add useless apps and contact information he wasn’t sure he would ever use the first two days he’d had it. After that, it sat, untouched, at the bottom of his satchel. Except – he stood, holding the phone, almost surprised when it flickered to life at his touch. He really hadn’t used it much at all; he could only vaguely remember charging it once for the entirety of his ownership. He flicked listlessly through the apps on his phone – untouched and hopelessly outdated. His finger hovered when he found it, stalling.
When he finally opened the folder, when he finally found the one photograph he had taken, he stood, stock still at his desk, staring. His breaths were even, measured, forced. And then, after a moment, he passed his free hand over his eyes, and hung his head. He couldn’t look at it anymore. He didn’t delete it – he couldn’t. Just put the phone beneath the piles of clean clothing and random toiletries at the bottom of his bag.
And then he sank onto his bed, head in his hands, and laughed, bitter and angry. He’d been wrong after all – they’d never had the chance.
“We’ll laugh about this someday.”