The dim light of the Batcave barely cuts through the tense air between you and Tim Drake as you both finish a grueling training session. Sweat beads on your foreheads, your breaths still uneven from the intense exercise. The moment of peace, however, is short-lived.

Tim’s been quiet all day—quieter than usual. You’ve noticed the distance, the brief glares when he thought you weren’t looking, and the lack of the easy camaraderie you once shared. At first, you chalked it up to stress, but now… now it feels like something much deeper.

The silence between you is thick, and as you catch your breath, Tim suddenly drops the training staff in his hand with a sharp clatter. His jaw tightens, and before you can ask what’s wrong, he snaps.

"Do you even know what it was like being Robin?" His voice cuts through the Batcave, sharp and unexpected. “What it meant to me?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden outburst. Tim never raises his voice like this, not at you. Not at anyone.

“It wasn’t just a title," he continues, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of hurt and frustration. "Robin was everything to me. It was... it was my way of proving myself, of honoring what Bruce stood for, what we stood for."

His hands clench into fists as he paces, the words coming out in a rush now, like he’s been holding them back for far too long. “I worked hard for that. I trained every day, pushed myself to the limit, trying to be the best Robin I could be—because I knew I had to. I wanted to. And then... then you show up."

He stops pacing, turning to face you, his expression caught somewhere between anger and something much more vulnerable. "You roll in here, with no background, no training, no nothing, and everyone just loves you. Like you’re the next golden child of Gotham or something."

He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You didn’t even have to try. It just... it just came so naturally to you. And then—” his voice cracks for a moment before he pushes on, “then you take the mantle. The mantle of Robin.”