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It was 11:42 PM, and Elliot was hunched over their desk, staring at the blinking cursor on their laptop. The essay—The Role of Gothic Architecture in 19th-Century Literature—was due in less than eight hours, and they had made precisely zero progress beyond the title.
Books were scattered across the desk, a coffee mug sat precariously close to their mouse, and their brain felt like it was melting. The only noise in the apartment was the soft hum of a space heater and the distant wail of sirens outside.
Elliot rubbed their temples. "Why did I wait until the last minute again?"
Suddenly, a sharp knock interrupted their pity party. They froze, heart racing.
Knock. Knock.
The sound wasn’t coming from the door. No, it was coming from the window.
Elliot lived on the sixth floor.
Slowly, cautiously, they swiveled in their chair and peered toward the window. A figure in red and black was crouched on the fire escape, waving. It took a moment for Elliot’s tired brain to process the image.
“Is that—” they whispered to themselves. “Red Robin?”
Another knock. Louder this time.
Elliot got up and slid the window open just enough to speak. A cold gust of air blew into the apartment, carrying with it the faint scent of rain.
“Uh… hi?” Elliot said, their voice rising in confusion.
Red Robin—yes, the actual Red Robin, Gotham’s infamous vigilante—shifted uncomfortably. “Hey. Sorry to bother you this late, but… can I use your bathroom?”
Elliot blinked. “What?”
“Bathroom,” Red Robin repeated, gesturing vaguely downward. “The restaurants and stores around here don’t have open bathrooms, and I’ve been on patrol for six hours. I really, really need to go.”
Elliot stared at him, unsure if this was a fever dream brought on by too much caffeine. Finally, they stepped back, opening the window wider.
“Uh, sure, I guess? Come in.”
Red Robin swung through the window with surprising grace, landing lightly on the floor. Up close, his suit looked scuffed and worn, like he’d been in a scuffle earlier. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the door to the bathroom.
“Thanks,” he said, making a beeline for it.
Elliot stood frozen, watching as Red Robin disappeared into their tiny bathroom and closed the door.
“This can’t be real,” they muttered, pinching themselves.
A few minutes later, another knock came from the window. Elliot turned, already feeling a sense of dread. This time, it was Nightwing perched casually on the fire escape, his signature grin lighting up his face.
“Hey there,” he said when Elliot opened the window. “Is Red in there?”
Elliot blinked. “Uh… yeah?”
“Figures. Mind if I go next?”
“What is happening right now?” Elliot mumbled, stepping aside to let Nightwing in.
Nightwing hopped through the window, his movements just as fluid as Red Robin's. He looked around the apartment, nodding approvingly. “Nice place. Cozy.”
“Thanks?” Elliot said weakly, still trying to process the situation.
The bathroom door opened, and Red Robin emerged, looking visibly relieved. “All yours,” he said to Nightwing, who gave him a mock salute before slipping inside and shutting the door.
“Thanks again,” Red Robin said to Elliot, pulling out a grapple gun. “I owe you one.”
“You… owe me a bathroom visit?”
Red Robin laughed softly. “Something like that. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to patrol. Stay safe.”
And just like that, he was out the window and gone.
Elliot stood there, staring at the open window, when the bathroom door opened again. Nightwing stepped out, stretching his arms.
“Ah, much better,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks for letting us crash your bathroom.”
“Sure,” Elliot said faintly. "Anytime."
Nightwing gave a two-fingered salute, then followed Red Robin’s lead, disappearing out the window. The apartment was quiet again.
Elliot sat back down at their desk, staring at the blinking cursor.
“That didn’t just happen,” they told themselves. “I’m hallucinating from stress.”
They took a deep breath, refocused on the essay, and began typing.
The next day, Elliot was in a better headspace. The essay was submitted, they’d gotten a decent amount of sleep, and they were halfway through their second cup of coffee.
Just as they were starting to feel normal again, the door to their bathroom creaked open.
Elliot froze. They turned slowly, eyes wide.
Standing in the doorway, wearing his full tactical outfit and holding a book he’d clearly taken from the shelf, was Red Hood.
“Oh,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Hey.”
Elliot’s brain short-circuited. “Why are you in my bathroom?”
Red Hood shrugged. “It’s a nice bathroom. Better than some of the places I’ve been.”
“That’s not an answer!” Elliot exclaimed, their voice an octave higher than usual.
Red Hood smirked, stepping out of the bathroom. “Relax, kid. Red Robin and Nightwing said you were cool with it.”
“They said what?”
Red Hood grabbed a mug from the kitchen counter and inspected it like he owned the place. “Yeah, they said you were fine with us using your bathroom anytime we’re in the area. Figured I’d take advantage of that.”
Elliot buried their face in their hands. “This is not happening.”
“Anyway,” Red Hood said, setting the mug down. “Thanks for the hospitality. I’ll lock the window on my way out.”
Elliot didn’t respond. They were too busy trying to figure out how to reclaim their bathroom from Gotham’s vigilante population.
Over the next week, Elliot found themselves increasingly paranoid. Every time they went near the bathroom, they hesitated, half-expecting to find another masked hero inside. The stress began to build.
By the time Friday rolled around, Elliot had had enough.
They placed a small sign on the bathroom door that read: “Out of Order for Vigilantes. Go Home.”
It didn’t work.
Saturday night, Elliot walked into the bathroom to brush their teeth, only to find Red Hood leaning against the sink, scrolling through his phone.
“Seriously?!” Elliot shouted.
Red Hood looked up, unbothered. “What? You said we could use it anytime.”
“That was not an open invitation!”
Red Hood grinned. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Elliot groaned, retreating to their bedroom. “I’m never using that bathroom again.”
From the other side of the door, Red Hood’s voice called, “Don’t worry, I’ll leave it nice and clean!”
Elliot buried themselves under the blankets, vowing to invest in better locks.
By Sunday, the stress had reached a breaking point. Elliot marched into the living room, opened the window, and shouted into the night: “I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL BATHROOM!”
Somewhere in the distance, a low chuckle echoed.
“Sorry, kid,” Red Hood’s voice called back. “No promises.”
Elliot slammed the window shut and sat down at their desk, resigned to their fate. Living in Gotham came with its quirks, and apparently, so did having a functional bathroom.
They made a mental note to buy a “No Vigilantes Allowed” sign for the fire escape. It probably wouldn’t work, but at least they’d tried.