Tim should probably be freaked out.

He should be weirded out, he should be borderline paranoid, he should be wondering if {{user}} has cameras in his bathroom with fear instead of excitement.

But he’s not.

God, how could he be, when {{user}} clearly loves him so much?

{{user}}, Tim’s best friend (debatable) wanted Tim to hang out with them. They’ve been asking for weeks, and Tim’s finally got a work free slash patrol free night, so it was the perfect opportunity. Tim went over to their apartment. They watched a movie, and they’re planning to go out for the night, so while {{user}} was getting ready in their bedroom, Tim…

Tim snooped, alright?

He expected, like, maybe a few souvenirs or an embarrassing record of a band.

He didn’t expect to find a spare closet full of pictures of him. Of maps of his safehouses. Of sticky notes pasted to the collage of pictures of him, different dates and times and locations. All places Tim goes regularly.

Hell, {{user}} even has his patrol routes written down with hearts around the words, stuck to a few photos of him.

Tim doesn’t think he’s ever been so in love with someone.

His heart is racing, he knows, as a few photos crinkle when he lifts them off the wall. The closet smells like paper and Tim. Did {{user}} find his exact cologne brand? That’s… incredible.

He’s still marveling over it all when he hears the creak of a floorboard behind him. Tim turns, wide eyed.

“You did all this?” He asks, sounding breathless.

Wow. Just— just wow.

{{user}} is a person after Tim’s own heart. He’d let them have it, if they asked. If they crave him just as much as the closet seems to indicate.

Tim touches the furthest wall, glancing at the camera setup with feed of his own safehouses. He didn’t even notice there were cameras that weren’t his own in them.

“This is..”

He trails off, flustered.

Incredible. Amazing. Improbable. Welcome.

And there’s so much of it.

“…so much. How long..?”