The manor was quiet in the way it only ever was after patrol—too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. Tim slipped into his room just after two in the morning, shoulders aching, limbs heavy with that bone-deep exhaustion that only came from running rooftops and thinking too much at the same time. He peeled out of his suit on autopilot, swapped it for soft pajama pants and an old Gotham Academy hoodie, then collapsed onto his bed face-first.

Only then did he grab his phone.

A notification sat there, earlier. Unanswered.

Tim groaned softly. “Crap.”

Hours ago, before patrol had gone sideways, Bernard had texted him. Tim had seen it. Smiled at it. And then vanished.

He rolled onto his back and typed.

Tim: hey. sorry i disappeared 😬 Tim: long night. the kind that comes with bad coffee and worse decisions

He stared at the screen, fully expecting nothing. Bernard was probably asleep. Normal people slept at two in the morning.

Five minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Tim’s lips curved immediately.

Bernard: wow. i was just about to assume you dramatically fell off a building Bernard: glad you’re alive, drake

Tim snorted, exhaustion loosening into something warm in his chest.

Tim: disappointed? Bernard: a little. i had a whole speech prepared

Tim shifted under his blankets, phone held close.

Tim: remind me to hear it sometime Bernard: careful. you might regret saying that. i’m very persuasive 😉

Heat crept up Tim’s neck. He rolled onto his side, burying half his face in his pillow like that might help.

Tim: is that a threat? Bernard: depends. do you like being challenged?

Tim huffed a quiet laugh.

Tim: you’re impossible Bernard: and yet you keep coming back

There it was—that easy confidence Bernard always carried. Relaxed, teasing, like he knew exactly where the line was and enjoyed leaning just close enough to it. Tim typed slower now, eyelids already drooping.

Tim: maybe i just like knowing you know that Bernard: oh, i definitely know that 😏 Bernard: also—you sound tired

Tim blinked at the screen. He was tired. Exhausted, really. His body felt like it was sinking into the mattress.

Tim: maybe a little Bernard: define “a little” Tim: if i close my eyes for too long i might lose the ability to open them

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then—

Bernard: call me

Tim hesitated for half a second before tapping FaceTime.

Bernard answered almost immediately. He looked comfortable—propped against pillows, hair a little messy, glasses off. His smile softened when he saw Tim.

“Hey,” Bernard said, voice low and easy. “There you are.”

Tim relaxed instantly. “Hey.”

“You look wrecked,” Bernard observed, not unkindly.

“Rude,” Tim muttered, eyes already fluttering shut. “Accurate, but rude.”

Bernard chuckled. “Okay, challenge accepted.”

Tim cracked one eye open. “What challenge?”

“Getting you to sleep,” Bernard said. “You’re halfway there already.”

“I am not—” Tim yawned, wide and unguarded, sentence completely lost.

Bernard’s grin turned fond. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

Tim nodded faintly, phone slipping closer to his chest. “Don’t hang up.”

“I won’t,” Bernard promised easily. “Just listen.”

He talked—about nothing important. About a weird article he’d read, a café he wanted to drag Tim to someday, a dumb joke he softened so it didn’t jolt Tim awake. His voice stayed steady, calm, grounding. Every so often he’d pause, checking Tim’s breathing, then continue when it evened out again.

Tim didn’t even realize when he stopped responding.

Bernard watched the screen for a moment, smiling to himself.

“Night, Tim,” he murmured. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”