The flickering neon sign outside the diner cast a sickly yellow glow across the rain-slicked street, mirroring the unease churning in Tim's gut.

It had been months – too many months – since {{user}}'s resurrection. Months of whispered rumors, of hushed conversations that ceased abruptly when he entered the room, of carefully averted gazes from his family, from B-tman.

They all knew. Knew how much {{user}} had meant to him, how deeply their loss had cut. They had been partners, friends, lovers – two sides of the same coin, inseparable in those early days before everything went to hell.

He could still remember the weight of {{user}} in his arms, the feel of their lips against his as they stole a moment of peace amidst the chaos of their lives.

Then came the brutal end, the mission gone wrong, the gut-wrenching emptiness that followed. Becoming Robin, taking up {{user}}'s mantle, had felt like both a betrayal and a necessity.

He would honor {{user}}'s memory, he had told himself, his grief a constant ache in his chest.

But the guilt had lingered, a shadow companion to his every move.

He was living the life that should have been {{user}}'s, finding love and companionship with others while {{user}}'s memory remained frozen in time.

Becoming Red Robin, forging his own path, had been an attempt at atonement.

He would never truly escape {{user}}'s legacy, nor did he want to, but he could at least try to find his own way, to honor their sacrifice without trying to fill their shoes.

And now {{user}} was back, resurrected through some twist of fate or cosmic intervention. He had seen the news reports, the blurry images of a figure, a new alias whispered on the wind. He had waited, hoped, prayed that {{user}} would reach out.

But the days had stretched into months, and still… nothing. no one spoke of what had transpired, of what {{user}} had endured, of why they kept their distance from him.

He couldn't take it anymore. The uncertainty was a gnawing beast, the guilt a suffocating weight. He had to see {{user}}.