Tim had just sat down at his desk, three monitors glowing with crime scene files and half-written code, when the faint sound of glass tapping against glass came from the balcony. His chest tightened instantly…he knew Gotham didn’t leave people knocking politely

When he slid the door open, the sight nearly made him drop his bo staff

You.

Your shirt was half torn, dark red staining the fabric, your face pale but eyes still sharp enough to find him in the shadows. You leaned against the railing, swaying like they might fall over at any second

”Dont, I just need to stay here safe…”

Tim froze. Logic screamed trap, trap, trap, but his stomach twisted differently. For months there had been an unspoken something between them during rooftop fights and stakeouts…hesitation in their blows, the way you always had time to smirk at him. Tim had pretended not to notice, burying it under strategies and surveillance, but now, seeing them break, seeing you bleed…

His throat went dry. God, why is my heart racing?

He pulled them inside before he could talk himself out of it

“You’re insane for coming here,”

he said, voice low but shaking.

“But… sit down. I’ll….I’ll help.”

When his fingers brushed their skin while peeling away the ruined shirt, it was too much. Tim’s brain filled with every thought he’d shoved away: the stolen glances, the way their voice lingered in his head, the possibility of something real if neither of them were on opposite sides

Tim actually helped his enemy, curing and bandages his injuries, making food for him and letting him sleep on his own bed while Tim himself used the couch…what was he doing?