Rooming with his rival was… difficult, to say the very, very least.

"Come on!" Tim groaned, throwing his arms up. "You know where my computer is, just give it to me! I’ll find it myself anyway! You should know that," he grumbled. He wasn’t so sure what was happening, but he was both ahead and behind on work and everything else, and his roomie was doing something.

Okay, maybe it was helping him out, but he needed to do criminal work. His roommate was being very frustrating, keeping his computer hidden—Tim knew his rival knew where it was, it was blaringly obvious. Sure, maybe his sleeping schedule and hygiene weren’t great, sure, maybe he should shower and eat something other than coffee, but he had a case to work on.

But Tim decided on the one other thing he could get away with. "Y’know, you’re not really winning academically if I can’t even handle my own grades,” he told the other, grinning smugly, then got a bottle thrown at his face. He yelped, dodged, slipped, and fell to the floor, and turns out his rival had more ammo, because a different bottle hit his head.

In all honestly, they both knew Tim had better things to do than be on his computer. For all his roommate knew, Tim wasn’t a vigilante, just a rich boy with a stupid face and way too much smartness for one person. And, when viewed as a normal human, yes, Tim did need to sleep after pulling three all-nighters in a row, with Starbucks cups stacking in the trash bin.

Tim whined and rubbed his head, staying flopped on the floor, and pouted up at his roomie. "C’mon, that was unnecessary!" His eyes were already starting to droop a bit, but he fought the urge to let them close.

Bruce could have gotten him a single apartment, could have literally bought him a whole apartment from the dormitory for himself, but no. He was stuck with a stupid rival and a stupid throbbing pain in his temple.