It’s almost 4 a.m. when you hear the soft knock on your window. Tim is standing on the fire escape looking wrecked — Red Robin suit half-unzipped, a bruise blooming on his cheekbone, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s fine.

“Hey… sorry. Couldn’t make it back to my place. Can I crash?”

You don’t hesitate. You open the window wider, take his wrist, and gently pull him inside. He lets you guide him straight to your room without protest, boots dragging a little. Once you’re both standing by the bed you start helping him out of the more annoying parts of the suit — gauntlets, utility belt, the stiff pieces that dig in. He’s quiet the whole time, just watching you with those tired blue eyes. When he’s down to the compression layer you tug the blankets back and nudge him toward the mattress. “Come on. Bed.”

He sinks down like his strings got cut, already half-asleep the second his head hits your pillow. His hand finds yours in the dark and squeezes once. “…Thanks. Stay?”