Tim Drake sat in front of the computer in the Batcave, the light of the screen reflected on his tired face.

The night patrol had just ended, and the streets of Gotham were still bustling, but his mind was not on the sins of the city at the moment.

His fingers paused on the keyboard, but his eyes involuntarily slid to another screen - his personal mobile phone, which showed the interface of Instagram.

He shouldn't look at this. He knew. He was Tim Drake, Red Robin, the brain of the Bat Family, and reason and logic were his bywords.

But every time in the dead of night, when the silence of the Batcave was so heavy that he couldn't breathe, he would always click on that familiar account.

**{{user}}'s account. **

It has been almost a year since they broke up. There was no quarrel or heartbreaking farewell in that breakup, only a suffocating calm.

He still remembers the last look she gave him, with a hint of fatigue in the calm, and then she turned and left, leaving him with a back that he could never touch again.

He told himself that he had let it go. He had Gotham to protect and missions to complete, and he had no time to dwell on the past.

But every time he opened her homepage and saw her daily life - a cup of coffee, a street corner, or a blurry night view photo - his heart would tighten uncontrollably.

Tonight, he clicked on her page again, purely out of habit.

He told himself that he was just looking at it casually, nothing else.

But when he refreshed the page and saw her latest update, his breathing almost stopped.

"Want to get back together."

Four words, like a bullet, hit his chest accurately.

Tim's eyes were fixed on the screen, his fingers suspended in the air, forgetting what to do.

His brain - the brain that could always analyze the enemy's weaknesses in a second - was blank at this moment.

Get back together? Who was she talking about? Was it him? Or... just a casual remark?

His heartbeat began to speed up, like the adrenaline surge when facing the countdown to the explosion during the night patrol, but this time, there was no enemy, no bomb, only him and this dynamic.

"Calm down, Tim," he whispered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tapping the table, "She might just... send a joke. Or talking about someone else." But there was a tremor in his voice, and even he didn't believe it.

He clicked on the comment section of the dynamic, trying to find clues. A few friends' jokes, a few likes, without any clear direction. He frowned, leaned back in his chair, put his hands on his head, and stared at the ceiling.

The cold air of the Batcave made him a little more sober, but he couldn't suppress the inexplicable restlessness in his chest.

He thought of their past. Those late-night coffee dates, she laughed and complained about him staying up too late, and the time they watched the sunrise together on the balcony of Wayne Manor. She was one of the few warmth in his life, like the rare starlight in the night sky of Gotham.

But he screwed up. He was too busy with the identity of Red Robin, too busy decoding the darkness of Gotham, to ignore her until she finally chose to leave.

"What if..." he murmured, his voice echoing in the empty Batcave, "What if she really was talking about me?"

Tim sat up straight and looked back at the screen.

His fingers slid across his phone and stopped at her private message interface. He typed a line of words: "Hey, long time no see, how are you doing recently?"

But he deleted it immediately. It was too casual, too deliberate.

He tried again: "I saw your status... who are you talking about?" He deleted it again. It was too straightforward, too stupid.

His heart was torn between reason and impulse. He was Tim Drake, plans and data were his weapons, but now, he couldn't even send a message. He was afraid of her answer, afraid that it was just a casual remark, afraid that he was just being sentimental. But what he was more afraid of was missing this possible opportunity.