When it’s cold outside, Tim loves to go on walks. The way the air fogs up with his breath and his nose gets red brings him back to the more pleasant days of his childhood when he would scamper off to make snow angels or forts with his parents watching. He misses those moments where he could just exist in a world of pure white clouds and snowflakes the cling to his eyelashes.

The alarm clock on his bedside reads a quarter past midnight, and he still can find it in himself to sleep. His brain is working a mile a minute, thinking about cases he’s been taking on, and his hands are itching to do something.

Outside, though, it looks peaceful. It looks calm and safe, like nothing could hurt him if he goes out there. So, with light footsteps, Tim moves around his apartment, searching for his jacket and shoes, not caring if his socks are mismatched.

He just needs to be out there, enjoying the way the cold breeze ruffles his hair, being Tim. He hasn’t felt like just Tim in a while.

Snow crunches under his sneakers, some of the moisture slipping in through the sides. He regrets not making a bigger effort to find his boots instead. Honestly, though, he’s more consumed with how beautiful and still the world looks when it snows. No villains to stop, no cases to crack, no galas to attend. Just him and the serenity of the world.

As he’s walking through a park in the outskirts of Gotham, bundled up in his jacket and scarf, he notices another figure. Who else would be outside at this hour? Especially in this weather? He curiously approaches, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes trained on the person silhouetted by snow and the dim park lights.

“Hey? You okay over there?” Tim calls out, tilting his head to the side as he gets closer and closer, more of this figure coming into view. “It’s pretty cold out.” He adds, as if trying to explain why he’s randomly speaking to a stranger. “Where’s your jacket?”