They fall in love at all of the wrong times, Bruce and Hal. There’s a push and pull to it, a tide that crashes through them as often as it recedes.
Their first kiss is innocent in its violence. It lasts mere moments, time that no longer feels sufficient, a moment that gets washed away by Bruce’s grief. He loses a child and seems determined to lose everyone else along with him.
They learn to trust each other again, their interactions hazy and so thick that Bruce thinks he’ll choke on it. He can see the pain in Hal’s eyes, pain that he can feel splitting his own heart in two when Hal goes down a path he can’t follow. Bruce has never really believed in evil, but when Parallax stands before him he can’t help but see the devil.
Their second first kiss is horrifying and wonderful and Hal is alive. He’s holding Bruce’s face in his palms, alive. The pain lingers and his eyes are darker and Hal is alive. The current fades, for a while. Their hands are steady, bodies in sync.
This time, when it’s Hal’s turn to look into the eyes of the devil-who-is-familiar, the pain that grips him is no longer pain. It’s an agony he exists in, an agony that is barely eased by the knowledge that Bruce is alive, somewhere. Love and hope are brief respites from the storm that has swallowed Hal.
Bruce’s body has been overworked for 40 years and the Lantern Corps have been reformed countless times before they have their last first kiss. The breeze is gentle at Wayne Manor, the noise subtle. Right here, on the roof of the manor, where the sun is softened by the clouds and Hal is safe in Bruce’s arms, where kissing Hal feels like home, Bruce no longer fears the devil.