Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The robbers are delirious when the door opens again. One of them is no longer responsive, but the other two are spaced out. The drugs from the proffered cannoli have them hallucinating disproportioned sections of one another’s faces and limbs. Hobbled footsteps trek past them, collecting the bag of cash discarded in the corner. By the time the footfalls make their way back to the door, the men are dead.

"And my professor think I'm not absorbing any arithmetic," Oswald scoffs. "Let me tell you, I had to bake 10 cannoli and each one takes a generous 3 tablespoons of filling, so I needed a total of 30 tablespoons of my poisoned chili cream. My professor should be so proud of my real-world example."

He collects the cannoli box and leaves the door shut in a juxtaposition to a robbery-homicide. This isn’t the life he expected he’d be living. Here he is, twenty-five, a senior at Gotham University. While he’s trading secrets between mob bosses and working duties under a crime lord, he’s got his own dirty laundry. In his car, Oswald silently decides where he’s headed: home, his mother’s, or visiting Jim. His subconscious picks the latter with the rest of him trailing behind.

He arrives just outside Jim’s apartment building a little after four. He looks in his rearview mirror once he parks and reaches into his glove box for a little foundation to touch up his busted lip from an earlier fight. Once he decides he looks presentable, the young man grabs his stylish cane in one hand and a sack of groceries in the other. He only manages to stagger up the first flight of stairs, which is inevitable due to the elevator still being broken after nine months. He rounds up the second flight, only to stop at a teenager’s feet.

“Excuse me,” He tries to be polite, but the teenager is sobbing into his knees and not paying the older man any attention. “Excuse me,” He tries louder. “Can I help you?”

The teen sniffles and barely looks up from beyond his glasses. “I don’t know. Can you?”

Oswald refrains from yelling or swatting at the kid. He breathes deeply. “Let’s try this another way. Why the hell are you crying on the steps?”

His words are hostile, but he’s reeling back. The teenager sighs and stretches out his feet.

“You’d think it’s dumb.”

Probably. “Just… tell me?”

He nods. “Okay. So, Lorie’s mother-in-law committed suicide but staged it to look like a homicide, and now Lorie’s in jail for a crime she didn’t commit.”

Oswald blinks. That’s more than I figured. “Do you live here? Can we go sit inside?”

“Oh! Yes. Your leg. So sorry. My roommate accidentally locked us out, and he’s with the locksmith now. We can walk up there and wait if you’d like.”

“I’d like.”

Whenever this geek’s roommate gets back, I can go see Jim. And make some food. And stay over. I am not feeling up to chatting with Victor tonight. His thoughts are cut short when they come to a stop outside a very familiar door. No way. This is not the roommate…

Flashback to two weeks ago

“How much longer until you graduate, Jim?”

“I’m a criminal justice major, Oz. It generally takes a while.”

“You’re twenty-three years old and still a junior,” Oswald complains, pouring a glass of Chardonnay from an ex-girlfriend’s bottle. Barbara, he thinks. “Maybe someone can move in with you and keep you company?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jim smiles. “I interviewed some people.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Oz snaps and then calms down quickly. “Sorry for that outburst. But, don’t you tell me everything?”

Jim shrugs. “Normally. But you’ve got Victor.”

“What does that mean? ‘I’ve got Victor’?”

“Aren’t you two, together?”

“God, no. We’re roommates.”

“Oh, good. Well, I’m getting a roommate too. He’s just out of high school. His name’s Ed. Come by sometime, and I’ll introduce you.”

“Yes. I’ll do just that, Jim.”

Oswald hasn’t seen or talked to his friend since their awkward conversation. Suddenly, everything clicks. Oswald is slightly dejected but sets down the bag and pulls out his phone.

|To: Jim Dear

|From: Oz

            I’m coming over tonight. Going to cook dinner for the 3 of us.

|To: Ozzie

|From: Jim

            I’m @ locksmith. 3 of us?

|To: Jim Dear

|From: Oz

            I’ll let myself in. You, Me, and your roommate

|To: Ozzie

|From: Jim

            Sounds good. I think you’ll hit it off

Oswald pockets his phone and grabs his bag.

“Take this.”

Ed has a second to glance at the other man before the bag of groceries is thrust into his arms. The other man pulls out a tiepin and a heavy-duty paperclip. He jimmies the items into the door lock, and within four seconds, the door is open. Oswald collects his cane and walks into the apartment. Ed, despite living there, awkwardly trails behind.

“C’mon, Ed. We don’t have all day.”

Ed blinks and follows him inside. After he shuts the door and carries the bag into the kitchen, he notices his new friend is missing.

“How did you know my name?” Ed calls out.

Oswald walks out of Jim’s bedroom ten minutes later. Ed has taken the groceries out, figuring that the man must be Jim’s delivery boy and he’s gone off to find the money. When Ed turns around to fold the bag down, he’s shocked to see Oswald wearing a GCPD hoodie and sweatpants.

“Those are my roommate’s.”

“Jim won’t mind.” The other assures him, walking into the kitchen.

Ed watches as Oswald grabs pots and pans out of cupboards with ease. He grabs a few ingredients from the fridge and the cabinets before Ed’s focus snaps back to attention.

“Wait, how do you know his name? How do you know my name?”

“Jim told me,” Oswald answers matter-of-factly. “And I’m going to be cooking dinner tonight.”

Oh! He must be Jim’s boyfriend! Why didn’t he just say that? Cooking dinner? Well, I suppose I could go to the library. Or maybe Kristen will need… His thoughts are put on hold when he realizes Oswald asked him a question.

“What?”

“I asked if that was alright.”

“If what’s alright?”

“I’m going to be cooking dinner tonight. For the three of us. And I’m spending the night. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Does he want to cook dinner for me too? “That’s great. I’ll tell Jim.”

“Jim knows.”

“Does he also know you broke into his apartment to cook this meal?”

“Yes,” Oswald answers absentmindedly. “Ever since our first time.”

Oh great. Now I’ve got that mental image. Jim and… who is this? “Wait. What’s your name?”

“Oswald. Jim calls me Oz.”

Chapter Text

Oswald's hands move with precision, chopping the onions and bell peppers with a rhythmic intensity as he cooks the traditional Hungarian dish his family has passed down through generations. The aroma of paprika and garlic wafts through the air, transporting him to a different time and place. Ed, sitting at the kitchen table, scrunches up his face in distaste.

"Smells like death and decay," he blurts out, his words hanging in the air like a challenge.

Oswald's grip on the knife tightens, his eyes narrowing into slits as he turns to face Ed. For a moment, the teenager thinks he sees a glimmer of something feral in those eyes, something that makes his heart skip a beat. Ed's words tumble out in a panicked rush as he tries to backtrack.

"Not your cooking, I was talking about... in general... and I was talking to myself."

Oswald's expression transforms, his lips curling into a sneer as he takes a step closer to Ed, the knife glinting in the kitchen light. Ed's eyes widen, his mind racing with the realization that he might have just made a grave mistake. But then, in an instant, Oswald's demeanor shifts again. He lets out a low, husky laugh, the sound sending a shiver down Ed's spine.

"Ah, kid, you're a real charmer, aren't you?" Oswald says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he returns to chopping the vegetables with a flourish. "You know, I think you could use a shower. You're starting to smell like sweat and desperation."

Ed's curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks, "Why do you smell like death?" He regrets the question the moment it leaves his lips.

Oswald's eyes lock onto his, a glint of amusement dancing in their depths. "Let's just say my day has been eventful. I've been fighting, baking, and killing. And now that I'm cooking for Jim, I really don't want to kill anyone else tonight. So, go. Shower."

The air seems to vibrate with tension as Oswald's words hang in the air, a challenge and a warning all at once. Ed nods hastily, his face burning with embarrassment, and beats a hasty retreat to the bathroom, wondering what he has just gotten himself into.

The sound of the key turning in the lock signals Jim's arrival, and Oswald's eyes light up with a warm smile as he continues to stir the simmering paprikás csirke. He assumes Ed is either waiting in his room or taking a leisurely bath, oblivious to the tension that has dissipated earlier. Jim saunters into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room until they land on Oswald, who's still wearing his sweatshirt.

A playful grin spreads across Jim's face as he strides over to Oswald, his voice low and flirtatious. "Hey, good lookin', what's cookin'?"

Oswald chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gestures to the sizzling pan. "Just whipping up some paprikás csirke, courtesy of my ancestors."

Jim's eyes widen in excitement. "Oh, man, I love that stuff! You're speaking my language now."

As Jim leans in to inspect the dish, he playfully squeezes Oswald's ass, earning a mock-indignant glance from his friend. Oswald leans into the touch, his expression softening into a warm smile. It is a gesture that speaks of a deep-seated comfort and familiarity, one that only comes from years of friendship. Jim plants a quick kiss on Oswald's cheek, and Oswald's eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Hey, watch it, cop. I'm trying to cook here."

As Jim begins to unpack his bag at his desk, he asks in a casual tone, "Hey, did you take care of that little money problem we discussed?"

Oswald's expression shifts, his eyes taking on a darkly satisfied glint. "Just took a little cannoli," he says, his voice low and smooth.

Jim's eyes meet Oswald's, and for a moment, they just look at each other, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Jim's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm glad."

The tension dissipates as quickly as it forms, and Jim's expression turns cheerful once more. "So, how's your mom doing? Still giving you a hard time about your life choices?"

Oswald snorts, his eyes rolling good-naturedly. "You know it. She's still convinced I'm going to end up in a ditch somewhere."

Jim chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, at least she cares."

As they banter back and forth, the kitchen is filled with the warm, comforting sounds of friendship and the savory aromas of Oswald's cooking. Ed, still in the shower, is oblivious to the easy camaraderie between the two friends, but he can't shake the feeling that he has stumbled into something much more complex than he had initially thought. Jim begins to shed his uniform, carelessly tossing his shirt and pants onto the couch. Oswald, still cooking in the kitchen, can't help but sneak glances at his friend's toned physique, a playful grin spreading across his face.

Jim, aware of Oswald's gaze, shoots him a cheeky smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Oswald chuckles, shaking his head as Jim rummages through the laundry closet for some clean clothes. He emerges with a wrinkled but passable outfit, which he quickly changes into. As he returns to the kitchen, he snags two beers from the fridge and a Yoo-Hoo for Ed, who is still in the shower.

As Jim hands him a beer, Oswald teases, "You're not letting Ed drink, huh? What's the matter, don't trust him with a beer?"

Jim shrugs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Hey, I let him have wine when he wants. He's a sophisticated kid, after all."

Oswald laughs, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, sure, wine is sophisticated, but beer is off-limits? You're a tough cop, Jim."

Jim chuckles, taking a swig of his beer. "Hey, it's not like I'm filling up on alcohol, I don't want to miss out on your cooking."

Oswald laughs, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Fair enough. So, how's Harvey doing? Still riding you hard at the academy?"

Jim's expression turns thoughtful, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, he's still got it in for me, but I kind of like the old guy. He's a hardass, but he's fair."

Oswald's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze intense. "I'm not sure I agree with you there, but hey, if you like him, that's all that matters."

Jim raises an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You're not plotting something, are you, Oz?"

Oswald's expression turns innocent, his eyes wide with feigned surprise. "Who, me? Never."

Jim's eyes widen as he takes an exaggerated whiff of Oswald's person, his face contorting in mock horror. "Dude, I hope you haven't been around any other cops today. You reek of decay."

Oswald rolls his eyes, a wry smile spreading across his face. "I'm wearing your sweater, Jim. I should smell like you."

Jim chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "The sweater is clean, Oz. You're getting 'dead people smell' all over it."

Oswald's eyes roll heavenward, his expression exasperated. "You're being dramatic, Jim."

Despite his protests, Oswald hands over the spoon to Jim, who takes over stirring the paprikás csirke with a flourish.

"I'm just saying, you might want to shower when Ed gets out. You don't want to traumatize the kid."

Oswald snorts, but he knows Jim is right. He nods, handing over the reins to Jim. "Yeah, yeah. I'll go grab a quick shower. Try not to burn the food, okay?"

Jim grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll try my best, but no promises."

As Oswald heads towards the bathroom, Jim calls out after him, "And Oz? Make sure to really scrub off the 'dead people' smell."

Oswald flips him off but his laughter echoes from the hall as he disappears from view. Oswald knocks on the bathroom door, his voice low and smooth.

"Hey, Ed, I need to get in there and wash off the decay."

Ed's voice is muffled from the other side of the door. "I'm in the bath, Oswald. Can it wait?"

Oswald's response is a low chuckle. "Not really, kid. I'm starting to feel like a biohazard."

Without waiting for further response, Oswald picks the lock and swings the door open.

Ed's eyes widen in surprise as Oswald strides into the bathroom, the latter's gaze flicking to the teenager before he continues, "If you're so bothered, cover up."

Ed's face flushes as he hastily hides himself behind a wall of bubbles in the bathtub. Oswald, seemingly oblivious to the teenager's discomfort, begins to strip naked with a complete lack of concern for Ed's modesty. He runs the hot water in the shower, the sound of rushing water filling the small bathroom as he rifles through the linen cupboard for a towel. As he turns to step into the shower, Oswald catches Ed's gaze and smirks over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"See something you like, kid?"

Ed's face turns an even deeper shade of red as he looks away, his eyes fixed on the wall as Oswald steps into the shower, the sound of water cascading down his body filling the bathroom. As Oswald steps under the warm stream of water, he lets out a sigh of relief, feeling the stress of the day melt away. He runs a hand through his raven hair, the water cascading down his face like a soothing balm. He reaches for Jim's body wash, the one that smells like lightning on a summer day, and lathers himself up, the scent invigorating his senses.

He picks up the penguin-shaped loofa, a quirky gift from Jim, and begins to run it all over his body, the soft bristles massaging his skin. Unless Ed has defiled his property, nobody else uses this loofa, and the thought of the strange teenager's hands on it makes Oswald's skin prickle with unease. But as he begins to stroke himself, his mind wanders back to Ed, and he can't help but wonder if the kid is watching him through the blown-glass door.

The thought sends a thrill through Oswald's veins, and he feels his excitement grow. He knows he needs to be quick, though - he still has to finish the paprikás csirke, and Jim is counting on him. But for now, he lets himself get lost in the sensation, the water, and the loofa, his eyes drifting closed as he savors the moment.

When Oswald closes the door to the shower, Ed's initial reaction is to slide under the bubbles and hide. But something about the sound of the water and the thought of Oswald's gaze makes him hesitate. Instead, he pulls the plug and steps out of the bath, his eyes fixed on the shower door as he towels off. As he dries himself, he catches sight of Oswald's hand reaching for the penguin loofa. Ed's heart skips a beat as he realizes he has used that very same loofa just two nights ago. He can only hope that Oswald isn't too territorial over his bathroom accessories.

Once dry, Ed quickly dresses in his casual pajama-like attire, his mind racing with thoughts of Oswald's reaction to finding out he has used the loofa. But before he can worry too much about it, Oswald's moans echo from the shower, and Ed's face turns bright red. He hightails it out of the bathroom, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping on Oswald's private moment.

Ed reenters the kitchen, trying to act casual as he approaches Jim, who is stirring the dinner with a wooden spoon. "W-what are you doing?" Ed asks, his voice coming out in a squeak.

Jim gives him a knowing look, but doesn't remark on Ed's obvious embarrassment. Instead, he smiles and says, "Guess you met Oz, huh?"

Ed's face burns even brighter as he nods, trying to play it cool. "Y-yeah. He's... quite the character."

Jim laughs fondly at Ed's assessment of Oswald, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I wouldn't dare change a thing about him," he says, his voice filled with affection.

Ed hums, his curiosity getting the better of him. "How long have you known Oswald?" he asks, his eyes wide with interest.

Jim's smile falters for a moment, and he looks away, his gaze drifting into the past. "Almost twenty years," he says, his voice low and introspective.

Ed's eyes widen in surprise. "Twenty years? That's a long time."

Jim nods, his eyes refocusing on Ed. "Oz's mom was like the neighborhood mom," he explains. "My dad was rarely around, so I spent a lot of time at Oswald's house. She'd feed me, give me a place to sleep... she was like a second mom to me."

Ed's curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks, "Wasn't that crowded?" before he can stop himself.

Jim laughs, a warm, rich sound. "Not when it was just the two of us," he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "We'd share everything. But Oz's mom is a collector. Collector of knickknacks and recipes and kids."

Ed's eyes widen in surprise. "Kids?"

Jim nods, his expression serious. "Yeah. I wasn't the only kid in the neighborhood with a bad homelife. She'd take us in, give us a good meal and a night's rest. She didn't have a lot of money, but she's always had a big heart. She helps when she can."

Ed's eyes soften, his gaze drifting to the kitchen, where Oswald is still showering. He can't help but feel a pang of admiration for Oswald's mom, and a newfound understanding of the complex web of relationships that binds Oswald and Jim together. The shower shuts off, and Oswald walks into the room shortly after, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"You guys better not be talking shit about me," he grouses jokingly, his eyes scanning the room.

Jim holds up his hands in mock defense. "Only the worst things, Oz."

But Ed, oblivious to the tension, chimes in, "We were talking about your mom."

Oswald's expression changes in an instant, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenched. He reaches for his umbrella, which is leaning against the wall, his hand closing around the handle with a hidden dagger inside. Jim's eyes widen in alarm, and he takes a step forward, his hands outstretched.

"Oz, wait, it's not what you think," Jim says, his voice calm and soothing. "Ed just asked how long we've known each other, that's all."

Oswald's gaze flicks to Ed, and then back to Jim, his expression softening slightly. He seems to relax, his grip on the umbrella handle easing.

Jim takes a deep breath and continues, "We were just talking about how your mom was like a second mom to me, and how she helped out a lot of kids in the neighborhood."

Oswald's eyes drop, and he looks away, his expression a mix of emotions. He walks over to Jim, his towel-clad body moving with a quiet intensity. He holds out his hands, his eyes locked on Jim's.

"Smell," he says, his voice low and rough. "Do I smell like dead people now? Like death and decay?"

Jim's eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans in to take a big whiff of Oswald's scent. He grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Nope," he says, his voice filled with laughter. "Now you smell like a penguin in a thunderstorm."

Oswald laughs lightly, taking over the stirring of the paprikás csirke. "Hey, Jim, can you grab my favorite purple pajamas from your closet? I think I left them here last time I crashed over."

Jim nods, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. He kisses Oswald's forehead in apology for worrying him, and Oswald pats his hand in response. Ed, who's been watching the exchange with confusion and discomfort, looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Oswald, noticing his awkwardness, shoos him away with a wave of his hand.

"Go sit on the couch like a good little boy, and drink your Yoo-Hoo," Oswald says, his voice teasing.

Ed looks mortified, but he does as requested, his face burning with embarrassment. "I-I can't wait to try dinner," he stammers, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Oswald smiles a little more naturally, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll bring it out soon," he says, his voice warm.

As Ed retreats to the couch, Oswald finishes up the paprikás csirke, his movements efficient and practiced. Jim returns with Oswals's pajamas and watches him, a small smile on his face, and Oswald can feel his eyes on him. When the dish is finally done, Oswald turns off the stove and lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Dinner's ready," he announces, his voice carrying into the living room.

Ed's eyes light up, and he sets his Yoo-Hoo aside, his face eager. Oswald smiles, feeling a sense of normalcy wash over him.