Tim Drake had seen many things in his life—crime lords, undead assassins, interdimensional threats. But nothing, nothing, compared to the absolute nonsense coming out of Bernard’s mouth as he tried (and failed) to finish his science homework.

“No, Tim, listen,” Bernard said, pacing their shared workspace like a detective on the verge of solving a case no one asked for. “The government definitely has a secret underground lab where they’re crossbreeding pigeons with cameras. That’s why you never see baby pigeons! They just… activate one day.”

Tim, who was halfway through balancing Bernard’s chemistry equations, didn’t even look up. “Right. Because pigeons are robots controlled by the state.”

“Exactly! You get it!” Bernard beamed at him, eyes alight with excitement.

Tim sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Bernard. No. I don’t ‘get it.’ I just need you to stop talking so I can finish your homework before I lose brain cells.”

But Bernard was on a roll. “And don’t even get me started on how the moon landing was—”

Tim cut him off with a sharp look. “I swear, if you say ‘fake,’ I will shove this textbook down your throat.”

Bernard blinked, then grinned. “I was gonna say ‘definitely real but also hiding a secret base with alien-human hybrids,’ but okay, mood.”

Tim groaned. “Why am I in love with you?”

Bernard slid onto the couch beside him, leaning dramatically against Tim’s shoulder. “Because I keep life interesting, baby.”

Tim nudged him off. “You keep my blood pressure high.”

“Same thing.”

Tim sighed, handing Bernard the now-finished homework. “Here. If your teacher asks how you suddenly understand thermodynamics, tell them you had a stroke of genius.”

Bernard took the paper with a pleased hum. “You know, you could be part of a secret society. Like, maybe you were trained by an elite group of intellectuals dedicated to maintaining the balance of—”

Tim shoved a pillow in his face. “Shut up, Bernard.”