Another evening dazzling old familiar faces, sweeping the dancefloor with his gown and drying his teeth passes Tim by.
It's not that he doesn't remember the whole festive event, he can recall what he's been doing throughout it just fine. His mind just... wanders. Tim could blame it on champagne but it's been a while since one singular flute did anything for him.
The door to his room closes behind him quietly and Tim's night continues, filled with methodical pull and yank of pins leaving his hair, escaping the confines of his dress and the slow crawl to the bathroom.
When he gets there he lies in the tub, waiting for it to fill.
He's unsure whether water is cold or warm, it just flows under him, over him, and above him, until he chokes.
The mat on the floor next to the tub is soft and warm under his feet when he hauls himself out. He likes it.
What he doesn't like is his face in the mirror and the fact he didn't wash off his make up first. Mascara rivets down his face, making its way through blotchy blush.
Tim washes it off. There's still glitter in the crevices of his eyes.
When he finally slips into the bed Tim's suddenly so wired and jittery he can't fall asleep. His hands shake even when he hides them under cool covers, so he jams them between his tights and just lies there, waiting. Soon enough the covers grow warm and there's no strength left in him to throw them off.
He's boiling alive when the window opens and Jason steps in, suprisingly silent considering his gear and weapons. With a quiet whistle on his lips and a spring in his step he takes care to disarm, fetch his pajama bottoms and lock himself in the bathroom, all content and calm. Tim loves him like that, just existing without any rush. Tim's a light sleeper but he wouldn't wake, if he were asleep. He isn't.
As it is, he lies and his hands shake.
Jason only takes a quick shower. He doesn't waste time and water and energy like Tim does. When he steps back into the bedroom he's careful and considerate, not the way Tim is.
When he gets into the bed he's real and solid, not vaporous and absent like Tim is.
It's a shock to Tim's system when Jason's arm circles around him, he almost thought it'd just pass through him and fall on the covers. Tim didn't even feel the jolt his body made, but Jason stilled behind him so he must've done something.
"...t's wrong?" Jason asks in a tired whisper. It seems his busy energy went down the drain.
"I can't focus my eyes," Tim whispers back. He's been trying to since he got back but it's all fuzzy. There's a hand waving in front of his eyes, at least that he knows. "It's not concussion."
"No patrol. Not tonight."
"I don't know", Jason hums, "those dances can get pretty brutal." He smiles into the nape of Tim's neck, Tim can feel his teeth on his skin.
Jokes on him, Tim's seen what happens when you miss a step during the last dance of the night. A shattered ankle or a bruised spine is the usual outcome. He wonders why do they still follow that particular tradition. He thinks Gotham should trademark that particular style of ballroom dance. He thinks great many things and so Jason's monologue falls on deaf ears till he waves his hand in front of Tim's face again and Tim's mind zeroes on it.
"Go to sleep. I'll be fine come tomorrow. I promise," he whispers. "I promise."
The arm on his waist tightens before smoothing down Tim's hips and up his chest, down and up, over and over, as if Tim were a dying bird Jason was trying to resuscitate between his warm hands.
"Can you kick the covers off my feet?" Jason does. It's a mercy. It's already a little bit better.
With the weight on his back, with the movement on his body and the temperature falling, Tim's better. He is. He looks around and his eyes focus briefly on his nightstand and bathroom carpet and the door to the corridor. He's fine.
Tim knows Jason is trying to stay up for him, continuing to smooth his side up and down and up and down, so Tim puts a stop to it, intertwining their fingers together on his stomach. After the whole night of running around and putting out fires—or putting things on fire—Jason deserves his rest
Tim will get his own, hopefully soon.
