Kon was sprawled across Tim’s bed like he owned the place, arms folded behind his head, boots carelessly dropped on the floor. He’d snuck in earlier, because that’s what he did, and now he was waiting while Tim finished in the shower.

The bathroom door opened, steam curling into the room, and Tim walked out in sweats and a clean t-shirt, toweling his damp hair. “So,” he said, half distracted as he flipped through a stack of papers on his desk, “do you want to order food, or should I ask Alfred to make something?”

Kon grinned immediately, eyes trailing over him with zero shame. “Why ask Alfred when I’ve already got a five-star meal right here?”

Tim stopped mid-step, looking up with the driest stare he could manage, though the pink brushing his ears betrayed him. “…You’re ridiculous.”

Kon only stretched further across the bed, deliberately dramatic. “C’mon, babe. You walked out here fresh from the shower, hair all messy, wearing my favorite shirt on you, and you expect me not to flirt? That’s cruel.”

Tim rolled his eyes, setting the towel aside. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Kon said with a lazy smirk, patting the spot beside him, “you keep me around.”

After a second, Tim sighed—because of course Kon had won—and climbed onto the bed next to him. Kon immediately pulled him down, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“So… Alfred or takeout?” Tim asked again, voice muffled against Kon’s chest.

Kon nuzzled into his damp hair, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. As long as I get you for dessert.”