Click, click, click.

Tim was something of a workaholic. This was nothing new to anyone, though. He was always typing away at something, always working himself to exhaustion in one way or another. It was just who he was, who he’d always been.

Tim knew what you assumed. You seemed to accept the lies that he fed you, the ones that claimed he was working on essays, or his thesis, or the odd lab or a group project or something like that. Normal college stuff. Sometimes he wished he was. Being an ordinary student, that is, instead of a vigilante scanning over murder cases and filing out his case files.

Tim sipped his coffee, continuing to scroll and type away. He was still worried, of course. That you would grow suspicious about what he actually did, that you’d catch on just as he had caught on to Dick and Bruce so many years ago. If he wasn’t such a good liar, he might be more worried. But he was, and secrets were something he had held his entire life.

His eyes drifted to the alarm clock on his nightstand: 3:24 AM. Too early for bed, but what about another cup of coffee? It was never too late for coffee.

“Did you heat up another pot?” Tim called across the room, to your curled up form, grumbling under blankets. God the typing got old. Especially at 3 in the morning on a Tuesday...okay, maybe that was a little suspicious, on his part.