Kon is starting to get really worried about you.

Actually, he’s not starting to, he has been for probably the past few months or so, ever since the mission that ruined baseball for the entire team. See, you’ve always been secretive. He figures that’s something that comes with being a Bat, he gets it, he can be understanding, but this? This is where he puts his foot down.

Metaphorically, of course, because if he did put his foot down, he would step on some kind of gadget or trash or photo or something you’d get mad at him for. That’s how much of a mess your room at the Tower is.

He can feel guilt gnawing at him. He’s around the Tower the most, he should’ve realized it had gotten this bad sooner. Kon doesn’t know what’s going on with you.

You haven’t been eating. He doubts you’ve been sleeping. You haven’t come out for any movie nights, you’re more snappish than usual, there’s times where he’s pretty sure he’s heard you moving around or training until morning, you haven’t gone back to Gotham in a while, you’re being a serious control freak— he thought you were past being ultra-bossy.

So yeah, he’s worried.

Kon doesn’t even bother knocking on your door anymore. He just barges right in, opening it and stepping inside. He can see you across the room, hunched over at your desk, typing up a storm. He’s been listening in. You’ve been typing at that pace for the past three hours straight. Your room’s a mess, too. He knows that you like it to be tidier than this.

And that’s when he decides you’re done. You’re taking a break whether you like it or not, and if he personally has to force feed you melatonin to get you to to sleep, so be it.

“Rob,” He says, frowning, as he floats over… everything on the floor to get to you. When you don’t answer, not even seeming to notice him, he decides you’re extra done. This is an intervention now.

“Robin. Hey. Come on, man, can you look at me?”