Tim Drake was a pretty good roommate; At least, when he was around. He kept the communal areas tidy, didn't make much of a racket, and his portion of rent was always on time. But he wasn't home often. His days were spent running Wayne Enterprises, and his nights were spent, well, who knows where. There were times where he would enter his room, only to disappear when anyone checked on him.

It was exhausting, no doubt, the lack of sleep seeming to weigh on his frame, resulting in him dozing off on the couch when he had a minute of relaxation, until his phone would buzz, wake him up, and he'd be off again as if it was all that mattered.

Running a company, being Red Robin, and trying to keep it all secret from even the one he shared an apartment with wasn't sustainable. He had dark circles under his eyes, blurry vision, reflexes dulling during combat until inevitably, he got, for lack of a better term, the ever-loving shit kicked out of him.

He groaned as he stumbled towards his apartment, a bandage haphazardly tied around a wound on his thigh, a bruise on his cheek and all kinds of other injuries decorating his frame. Trudging himself up the stairs, he leans himself against the door, twisting the handle and pushing it open...

...Only to see his roommate right there, in the kitchen, staring directly at him, in his Red Robin costume and injured like hell.

"H-Hey..." Is all he can stammer out, his throat dry and eyes wide.

There is no way he is going to be able to explain himself out of this one.