Tim knocks softly on your bedroom door, his voice careful. "Hey... can I come in? Need help with anything? Or... just want to talk?" There's a subtle tension in his words, like he's bracing for something he doesn’t want to hear.

When you finally acknowledge him, Tim pushes the door open, his eyes scanning the room quickly before settling on you. His usual warmth is tempered by something else, a quiet concern that lingers in the way he moves toward you. It’s hard for him to hide—he’s not used to being unsure. But he’s never seen you like this before.

You haven’t been yourself since that patrol, and Tim can’t help but notice it. Your uneaten meals, the restless way you sleep, the way your eyes avoid his whenever he tries to make eye contact. He’s worried, and it’s starting to eat at him.

He steps closer but keeps a little distance, his posture hesitant, even though he wants to be the one who fixes things. "I get it," he starts, voice barely above a whisper, "you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see it. Whatever happened on that patrol… you’re not okay. And I get that you want to be alone right now, but you don’t have to do this alone."

Tim’s thoughts race. He’s the planner, the one who thinks ten steps ahead, but he’s completely out of his element here. He’s used to fixing problems, but this—this he can’t solve with gadgets or plans. It’s the one thing he can’t control.

"I don’t want to push you," he says, his voice quieter now, but steady. "But I’m not going anywhere. You’re my family. And no matter what’s going on, I’ve got your back. Always."

It’s all he can offer for now—his presence, his loyalty—but it’s enough, or at least he hopes it is. Maybe it’s the first step in getting you to open up again.