Description: Tim Drake forgets things. Like dates, his homework, and sometimes his cape. But... mostly dates.

Words: 1356

Notes: Another one from the dead blog! PS: I'm watching Batman: Forever and I have to stop myself from laughing because whenever Robin comes on screen I can't help but think that he looks like a Backstreet Boy.

_

Tim groans into his hands, sliding them up his face and rubbing his eyes. First, he gets detention. Next, he gets an earful from Bruce and then has to deal with an emergency. Then, his spare cape goes missing, the softer/sleeker one that helps him glide, meaning that he couldn't be in the air where Gotham needed him. Finally, he ends up missing his date with you. That had to be the worst out of everything.

He hated disappointing you. The first few times... the look on your face, so forlorn and insecure. Again and again, he provided more evidence to the idea that he hated you, even though at the end of the day you were what he looked forward too most. Because after going to school (which he despised more than Damian despises him), getting legitimately punched in the face for a living, and basically living a life that killed his conscience every day, you were there. You were there with your warm embrace, your coffee, and your non-stop comfort. Everything about you was so comforting.

The light of his computer is blinding, the explosions and shouts of a battle are deafening, the constant fighting and training brutally wounding. But you are a stark contrast to the harshness of his everyday reality; where the world is loud and painful to the senses, you are nothing but soft, sweet and affectionate. If Tim is a machine, then you are his power source.

The weight of all of his uncompleted projects—with increasingly nearing due dates—is abruptly pulled to the background of his conscience. Oh. So that's where his other cape went.

The mound on Tim's bed shifts, the fabric of his cape reflecting the dim light of his computer screen, like the fabric is made of silk. His PC plays over an episode of the Star Wars animated show on Netflix's website, casting the screen's image of a starry sky into your eyes. Your pupils have blown wide to take in every image of the show, unaware of his presence and distracted by the scent left in his clothing. Not only are you wrapped up in his cape like a blanket, but you are also sporting one of his sweatshirts, your nose buried in both as your eyes fight to stay open. You are both tired.

Tim turns on the lamp in his room as not to assault your vision too much, but you still blink harshly when the glow falls over your temporary covering. It still amazes you how he can look so handsome while being so exhausted. You usually look like a dying animal when you're tired. Reaching over, you strike the spacebar on his keyboard to pause the episode and smile up at him through a yawn,"Hey, pretty bird."

Tim's expression immediately falls into a sullen grimace. He reaches out to touch you but refrains from doing so, knowing you hate to be touched when you're angry,"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I got detention and then there was an emergency and I—" You cut him off, shaking your head and gesturing for him to come closer. Tim sits on his bed, lips fighting over whether he should smile or not; before you speak, you rub at your eyes with his sleeves and hum under your breath, like a cat. So cute.

"It's fine, Timbo, trust me. I'm used to it." You shrug it off, dismissing a comment with a wave of your sweater-paw. The arms of his sweatshirt are longer than yours, meaning you ball your fists around the fabric and let them hang. Tim laughs awkwardly and in a melancholy manner,"I don't want you to be used to it, Y/N."

Tim runs his fingers through his hair, making you instantly regret your words. I'm used to it, you repeat your own thoughts bitterly, shoulders sinking tightly, Dammit. Tim has too much on his plate already, he shouldn't have to deal with that kind of stuff. It can wait. You know that it's not Tim's fault, and if anything you're both lucky that he's even trying to date in such a situation. You respect it and him.

"Look, that's not what I meant. I meant that it's fine, because you're saving people and your focusing on your future. That's important." You curl the slippery fabric of his cape around your fingers, knotting it and unknotting it around each joint. In an attempt to change the suddenly sorrowful atmosphere you tap your lips and grin,"Besides, you forgot to give me a hello kiss."

Tim thanks your ability to prevent arguments—and your just general not want to get in arguments at all—internally, and attempts a smile that doesn't show in his eyes but is still reaching for them."Who says I forgot? Just saving my favorite thing for last." Tim sits down on the bed, dipping the memory foam to fit his shape. He sighs happily with the sudden warmth of your presence. Gotham is a very cold city, especially at night.

Fluidly, you cup his face with his sleeves and pull him in and under your spell. Tim sighs happily through his nose as you kiss, melting under your touch and your taste of chocolate. You must have found his candy stash. The kiss is slow, every lock of lips contemplated and appreciated. Eventually you start to feel down and around his chest, and like every teenager on earth, you somehow get turned on by nothing and the kiss becomes heated.

You moan against his lips when Tim tugs your hips forward. He crawls deeper into the mattress' depths and spreads your knees so they can accommodate his hips between them. Your nails pull down his back, tongue lapping at his with the vigorous spirit of youth, back arching off of his sheets in order to feel every curve of muscle and point of bone. Before it can get too far, you groan and drop your hands from his pectorals. Tim lays his brow against your collarbone and sighs, exhilarated. He keeps his hands on your thighs when he asks hopefully,"May I be forgiven for standing you up?"

"You may." You respond, carding your fingers through the forest of his hair,"...And if I'm being honest, I'd rather cuddle inside and watch a movie instead of dinner. You know how shy I can be." You confessed. Tim laughs, the sound bubbling from his throat in one quick burst,"Me too. I just thought... y'know, you like the cliche romantic stuff. Like dinner and a movie."

You gently lift his head from your chest, caressing his cheek,"Yeah, as long as it doesn't involve socializing with strangers."

Tim practically has heart eyes when you say these words, and he looks a little awed by you. He shakes his head,"You really are my soulmate, aren't you?"

Laughing together, you roll so he's lying down beside you. Tim takes the edge of his cape and pulls it over the both of you. Reaching for the nearest object—a balled-up sock, Tim tosses it at the light switch and turns off the lights. Without another thought he kicks off his shoes and allows you to burrow into him, like a kitten searching for warmth. He's happy to give it.

"Nice blanket. I didn't know it was you who stole it." Tim smiled, gesturing to his rather large cape. It seems so small when he has it on his back.

You flush, wrapping it tighter around you,"I miss you a lot when you're gone."

"I miss you too, sweetheart." Tim relishes in the near-dreamy sigh you produce when he kisses your forehead. Here, right now, where you say goodnight and he kisses you to sleep, is the best part of his entire day. The mass of pillows on his bed is so thick that Tim is half-way sitting up when he starts to sleep, you in his lap with one hand clasping his shoulder and the other wrapped around his back. You return the affection by kissing his jaw. His muscles relax and the world is right again. All is well.