The night in Gotham was strangely peaceful, an almost surreal phenomenon for a city that usually breathed chaos. Low fog enveloped the skyscrapers and the distant echo of traffic barely disturbed the tranquility that had settled, at least for a few hours, over the streets.
Inside his apartment, the atmosphere was quite different. Tim Drake, exhausted after endless days between his duty as the third Robin and his civilian life, had fallen into a deep sleep on the sofa. Around him, printed folders and notes bore witness to the complex report he had been trying to finish before exhaustion fully overcame him. But the real chaos wasn't in the city streets, but in his own mind.
Lately, Tim had been dealing with a series of intense, steamy dreams that completely clouded his judgment upon waking. They were vivid fantasies where the lines of friendship were completely blurred, immersing him in overwhelming intimacy with his friend. In that precise moment, the illusion in his head became so real and the heat so persistent that, just as the dream reached its climax, Tim jerked awake, his breath catching in his throat.
The silence of the apartment was broken only by the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
Tim rubbed his face, completely confused and heavy with guilt as he tried to shake off the remnants of that nocturnal fantasy. However, when he looked down at the floor beside the sofa, his heart skipped a beat for an entirely different reason. There was his friend, in the flesh. With total nonchalance, his friend was devouring snacks while skillfully typing on Tim's laptop, focused on the screen and heroically rescuing the report that the young hero had left unfinished before collapsing.
