The mission had gone sideways. A simple recon job turned into a full-blown fight, forcing you and Tim to retreat to a cramped safe house for the night. Bruce had arranged everything—except, apparently, a second bed.

Tim stepped inside, already scanning the room like he was assessing an escape route. His eyes landed on the single mattress, and he blinked once, then exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to an exasperated sigh you’d get from him.

“Well. That’s inconvenient.”

He adjusted his gloves, clearly debating whether he could rationalize sleeping on the floor. A second later, he abandoned the idea with another small sigh, tilting his head toward you.*

“I mean, technically, I could sleep on the floor,” he said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Then, after a beat, he met your gaze and let out a short, tired chuckle. “But let’s be honest, that’s not happening.”