The rain had long since stopped, leaving the rooftops of Gotham slick and shining under the dim light of a waning moon. Tim Drake perched on the edge of an abandoned building, his black cape trailing behind him like the remnants of a storm. He adjusted his domino mask, hoping it hid the exhaustion etched into his face and the emotions threatening to spill over.

Below, the city thrummed with its usual symphony of chaos, but Tim barely heard it. His focus was entirely on the figure standing a few feet away—a beacon of warmth in a world of shadows.

"Thanks for coming," Tim said, his voice softer than he'd intended. He cleared his throat, forcing his tone into its usual steadiness. "I know it's late."

They offered a small smile, tilting their head in concern. "You look like you haven’t slept in days, Tim. Are you okay?"

He let out a short, humorless laugh, turning his gaze back to the glittering skyline. "I’m fine. Just busy. You know how it is — Gotham doesn’t exactly take vacations."

"You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself," they said, stepping closer. The concern in their voice twisted something deep inside him. "Even you need rest."

Tim’s heart clenched. He didn’t deserve their worry — not when he was the one who kept pulling them into his world, into his orbit. His hands tightened on the edge of the roof as he forced himself to keep his distance.

"It’s nothing I can’t handle," he said lightly, though his throat tightened around the words. "Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about than me."

"Tim, you’re my friend — of course I worry about you."

Friend. The word hit him like a dagger, sharp and cold, but he nodded anyway, his mask hiding the flicker of pain in his eyes.