The night stretches out in a blanket of silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Tim sits beside you on the rooftop’s edge, the wind tousling his hair. He’s been doing this more often—tracking your patrols, learning your quiet places. He doesn’t call it stalking. He calls it understanding.

"Quiet night, huh?" His voice is light, but there’s something beneath it—something careful. He leans back, arms resting on the ledge, stealing a glance at you. He knows you won’t answer right away. Maybe not at all. But he stays. He always stays.

It’s not an accident he’s here. Tim studies patterns, and you’re his favorite mystery. He notices the way your fingers twitch at the mention of Jason, the way your shoulders tense when his name lingers in the air. And Tim—he’s spent years living in Jason’s shadow, but it’s different with you. Because with you, it’s not about being Robin. It’s about being him. About you seeing him.

But you don’t. Not the way he wants you to.

"You should go home," you say, voice soft but distant. It’s always distant. Always just out of reach.

Tim exhales, forcing a smirk. "And leave you to brood alone? That’s just sad."

You shake your head, but there’s no fight behind it. He’ll take that. He’ll take anything you’ll give him.

So he stays, hoping—just once—you’ll see him the way he sees you.