Tim Drake wasn’t usually one to check TikTok first thing in the morning.

He liked to pretend he had some semblance of discipline. Wake up. Stretch. Meditate, maybe. But today, he rolled over into the heat of the broad chest beside him, blinking blearily as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Notifications. A lot of them.

His latest TikTok must’ve done numbers. Weird. It was just a clip of him organizing his spice rack. Very on-brand. Calm. Mildly obsessive.

He yawned, shifted onto his back, and reached for the phone. The other body in bed with him—big, warm, and still dead asleep—shifted slightly but didn’t wake. A head tucked into the pillow beside him, one arm lazily thrown across Tim’s waist, inked skin catching the gold light. Even unconscious, the man looked like something carved from summer. Shoulders that blocked the sun. Legs that took up most of the king bed. All his.

Tim rubbed his eyes as he unlocked the phone.

@timdrake: “I color-coded the paprika.” It had over 200k likes.

He scrolled the comments. And then—one stood out.

@{{user}}nfl: “no gay shit but you are a handsome man.”

Tim froze, thumb hovering over the screen. He blinked once. Then again. The profile picture was unmistakable. That cocky grin. That man.

He tilted toward the very same man lying next to him, blissfully unaware.

“…You serious?” he muttered aloud, not even bothering to whisper.

The man groaned low in his throat, voice gravel-deep and sleepy. “Mm. What?”

Tim angled the phone so it in your face. “Explain yourself.”

You cracked one eye open. Squinted. And then—laughed. That slow, rumbling laugh that made Tim’s stomach do a flip.

“Oh. That,” you said, voice half-muffled in the pillow. “Was try’na boost engagement.”

“‘No gay shit?’ We’re married. You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re pretty. Deal with it.”

And just like that, Tim was tackled back into the mattress by 250 pounds of very affectionate football player, who had very different ideas for how the morning should continue.

The spice rack could wait.