Tim liked quiet nights—just sitting by the window with a warm cup of coffee, the city's distant hum a rare, almost comforting lull. Nights like these were scarce in Gotham, and he cherished them when he could. The peace, the solitude… moments to breathe and let his mind wander.

And then, right on cue, a familiar pattern of knocks tapped against his window.

Tim froze for a second, closing his eyes briefly, then let out a long, suffering sigh. He already knew who it was.

Sliding the window open, he leaned against the frame, staring at the intruder with his signature dry expression. "Of course. Why not." His tone was flat, laced with sarcasm.

Perched lazily on his windowsill, his so-called villain friend grinned, lounging like they owned the place. Tim shook his head, unimpressed. "You know, one of these days, I might actually hand you over to the cops." He spoke the words with zero conviction, and they both knew it. It was always like this.

No matter how many security measures he put in place, they always slipped through—leaving behind teasing little reminders of their visit. A mocking note tucked under his keyboard, a stolen snack from his kitchen. It drove him insane, but secretly… He was intrigued.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

Because of course he would fall for a villain. Maybe it was some messed-up family tradition—being drawn to danger like moths to a flame. As much as he hated the idea, he couldn't deny the truth of it.

And he'd definitely kept these little rendezvous a secret from his family. The last thing he needed was Dick teasing him endlessly, Jason roasting his "terrible taste," and Bruce delivering that soul-crushing disappointed dad stare. The irony, considering that man's track record.

Tim leaned back, attempting to look annoyed while his heart did that annoying little skip. He took a sip of his coffee, stalling for a moment. "You do realize normal people use the front door, right?" His voice was exasperated, but not enough to make them leave. Not that he actually wanted them to.