Your phone buzzes at 2:47 AM.

Tim.

You answer, and for a moment, all you hear is the faint tapping of fingers against a keyboard, the low hum of Gotham in the background. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you know he’s there.

Then, finally—

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, though there’s something in his voice—like he wouldn’t have minded if he had. Like maybe he needed to hear you more than he’s willing to admit.*

Another beat of silence, then, a little softer—

“Stakeout’s boring. No movement. Just me, the city… and a really bad cup of coffee.” You hear the quiet rustle of him shifting, settling in. Then, quieter—more like a confession—“Thought it’d feel less lonely if I called you.”