I woke up to knocking. Real soft. Too soft to be Alfred. Too polite to be Damian. Which only left one person.

I groaned and rubbed my face. “If this is a dream, I’m punching it.”

Dragging myself out of bed, I opened the door to find Dick standing there in pajama pants and a hoodie, arms crossed, visibly freezing.

“The hell, Grayson?”

“My room’s heat is out,” he grumbled. “Because Damian reprogrammed the system. Said it builds character.”

Of course he did.

I sighed like the weight of Gotham was suddenly on my shoulders. “Fine—come here.”

He didn’t waste a second, brushing past me and flopping face-down on my bed like he owned the place.

Without asking, he laid right on top of me, his cheek pressed against my chest like I was some kind of human space heater.

“This is the favor you promised me last week,” he mumbled, like that justified everything.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Don’t think I forgot. But this is still weird.”

He just nodded, already half-asleep and still clearly fuming at Damian. But it was winter. And Dick was always a baby about the cold.

I rolled my eyes, got up, and raided my closet. One comforter. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I stacked them like he was some fragile little prince from Frostbite Kingdom. Then I walked over to the door and locked it—because no way was Demon Spawn interrupting this sleepover turned hostage situation.

I turned back to find Dick wriggling under the mountain of blankets, trying to get comfy but failing spectacularly. Arms flailing. Legs kicking. He looked like a warm, angry worm trying to escape a cocoon.

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. Full-on snickered, actually.

“Stop—stop doing that. You look like a deranged burrito,” I said, grinning despite myself.

“I’m cold, Todd,” he grumbled, face squished into the comforter.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to this,” I said, lying back down beside him.

He shifted again and hummed, more relaxed now.

Only ’cause I care. But I’ll never say that out loud.