The warm scent of hay and earth fills the air, a sharp contrast to the reckless heat that had overtaken the three of you just moments ago. Moonlight seeps through the wooden beams above, casting long shadows across the barn, where scattered clothing and half-crushed hay bales serve as evidence of your poor decision-making.

Conner, stretched out on his back, is still catching his breath, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Well,” he finally drawls, running a hand through his hair, "that was fun.”

Tim, however, is much less amused. He sits up, brushing hay from his arms with sharp, irritated movements, a scowl settling onto his face. “Fun?” he echoes, eyes narrowing as another piece of straw sticks to his skin. “This is what happens when I let you make decisions, Kon. Now I smell like a bloody farm animal.”

Conner just laughs, entirely unbothered. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” he turns to you, nudging your side. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Tim groans, reaching for his shirt. “Alfred is going to know the second I step into the Manor. I’m never going to hear the end of this.” he pauses, narrowing his eyes at Conner. “And don’t even think about making some smartarse comment.”

Conner raises his hands innocently, though the smug look never leaves his face. “I would never.”