You’re a bit of an odd bird.

And look, he knows, consciously, that you’re probably like this because of all the pollution that you inhale daily in Gotham and how much you probably get knocked around by both your city’s villains and your mentor. You’ve likely been concussed a lot.

But none of that really explains your little.. quirks. Some might say ‘habits’. Conner would say oddities.

Like for example the fact that you seem to just appear places. Even his super hearing can’t pick up your footsteps when you don’t want to be heard. Or the fact that whenever someone gets an energy drink it ‘mysteriously’ goes missing. Or your obsession with PowerPoints. Or the fact that sometimes you’ll read off mission statements to the team and you’ll almost sound like you’re fanboying over the stats. Or that despite the concussions you’re the smartest person he’s ever met, and in line with the concussions, simultaneously the dumbest person he’s ever met. The two can apparently coexist.

None of that explains why you’re passed out while perched on top of the team’s fridge at two in the morning. He gets that sometimes people just fall asleep. He does. But also Conner is starting to worry that you might have some form of narcolepsy.

He debates opening the fridge—but that wouldn’t bode well for him. He’d rather not be the victim of some random martial art, thanks. He scratches the back of his neck, in his pajamas and tired of you because it’s two in the morning on a Thursday. “Rob,” Conner says, voice exhausted, “wake up. Pretty please. That can’t be comfortable, dude.”

He’d really like to get back to his bed, actually, and deal with this in the morning.