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The first thing Tim registers when he wakes up is warmth.
Not the usual blanket-and-electric-heating warmth he’s used to—actual, radiating, impossible-to-escape, Kryptonian boyfriend wrapped around him like a vine warmth.
Tim blinks sleepily. There’s a heavy arm across his waist, a nose buried in his hair, and a low, rumbling snore buzzing against the back of his neck.
“Kon,” Tim mumbles.
The snoring stops.
A beat.
And then:
“…no,” Kon says into his hair, squeezing tighter. “Five more minutes.”
“It’s already past nine.”
“Okay, ten more minutes.”
Tim snorts and wiggles, which only prompts Kon to lift him effortlessly and reposition him on top of his chest, like Tim weighs nothing more than a pillow.
The apartment is still and quiet. Snow is drifting down beyond the window, thick and soft. Gotham has declared it an official snow day—streets closed, schools cancelled, and even hero patrol cut down to emergency-only.
Which means: Tim Drake is forced to rest.
Kon has declared this a personal victory.
“Since when,” Tim says, poking the center of Kon’s chest, “do you sleep like a furnace?”
“Since you decided to use me as a heating device.” Kon grins, sleep-ruffled, hair a mess. “Biological space heater. It’s part of the superboy package.”
Tim rolls his eyes, but the pink in his cheeks is very real.
He’s still on Kon’s bare chest. He’s not moving.
Kon brushes Tim’s hair back gently, fingertips warm. “You’re not allowed to work today.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You literally fell asleep on top of your laptop at two in the morning, babe.”
Tim freezes.
Kon taps his nose. “You talk in your sleep, too.”
“I do not—”
“You whispered something about ‘reorganizing the mission logs’ and then drooled on my shoulder.”
Tim hides his face in Kon’s chest. “I hate you.”
“You love me.” Kon smirks. “Also, you’re adorable.”
Tim groans into his skin. “Don’t call me adorable.”
“Cute.”
“Kon.”
“Sweetheart.”
Tim lifts his head and glares, but it’s very hard to be intimidating when your boyfriend is glowing at you with that lovesick, sunshine-drenched expression that makes Tim’s heart do embarrassing somersaults.
Kon’s grin softens. He cups Tim’s cheek.
“Snow day. No hero work. No cold cases. Just… us. Please?”
There’s something so earnest in his voice that Tim feels the fight melt out of him.
“…Okay,” he whispers. “Just today.”
Kon lights up. Actually lights up. He flips them easily, pinning Tim under him—but in a soft, cozy, blanket-cocoon kind of way.
“Good,” Kon says. “Because we have an agenda.”
Tim squints. “…You made an agenda.”
“I know my boyfriend.” Kon taps his own temple proudly. “Step one: pancakes. Step two: a movie that's not a detective one. Step three: cuddles. Step four: more cuddles.”
Tim laughs before he can stop himself.
“Kon…”
“And step five,” Kon says, leaning down until their noses brush, “is kissing you until you forget how to spell ‘cold case.’”
Tim huffs a small, helpless breath and pulls him in by the shirt.
The kiss is slow and warm and unhurried—like the snow outside, like the morning itself, gentle and quiet and safe.
Kon pulls back only when Tim needs air, brushing a thumb across his lower lip.
“You look happy,” he murmurs.
Tim’s cheeks are pink again. “Maybe I am.”
Kon beams. “Good. Now get up, baby bird. Pancakes await.”
Tim threads their fingers together. “Only if you let me make the coffee.”
“Deal.”
They stand in the kitchen in mismatched pajamas—Tim drowning in one of Kon’s shirts, Kon in sleep pants with tiny cartoon cows on them.
The coffee brews. Pancakes sizzle. Snow continues to fall outside the window.
Tim leans back against Kon’s chest as they wait, and Kon wraps his arms around him without hesitation.
For once, there’s no alarms. No missions. No pressure.
Just the steady beat of Kon’s heart against his back.
“…hey Kon?” Tim says softly.
“Mm?”
“Thanks. For today.”
Kon presses a kiss into his temple.
“Any day with you is my favorite day.”
Tim’s smile is small and soft and real.
“Mine too.”
Kon’s pancakes are… chaotic.
There’s flour on the counter, on Kon’s cheek, on Tim’s shirt, and Tim is 98% sure some ended up in his coffee mug before Kon remembered he’s supposed to separate the dry ingredients.
But Tim is smiling into his cup anyway.
Kon is humming some off-key pop song as he flips a pancake way too high, almost losing it to the ceiling fan. He catches it with a triumphant grin like he just saved the world.
Tim sips his coffee, soft and warm in his hands, and leans against the counter, watching.
“You’re staring,” Kon says without looking up.
“You’re a health hazard,” Tim replies.
Kon wiggles his eyebrows. “A sexy one?”
Tim chokes slightly on his coffee. “Please. I’m begging you. Stop talking.”
Kon walks over immediately, gently prying the mug from Tim’s hands.
“You’ve hit your sip limit,” Kon announces seriously.
Tim blinks at him. “You can’t enforce a coffee limit.”
“Watch me.” Kon puts the mug on the highest shelf—where Tim can’t reach—then taps Tim’s nose. “Caffeine gremlin mode denied.”
Tim glares up at him. It’s more fond than threatening.
“Kon.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I am going to drink that later.”
“You can try.”
Tim narrows his eyes. Kon beams back, victorious already.
They eat on the couch, legs tangled under a blanket, Kon feeding Tim pieces of pancake like Tim is incapable of using a fork himself. Tim lets him, mostly because Kon looks utterly delighted each time Tim opens his mouth.
After breakfast, Kon scrolls through movie options.
“Action?” he offers.
Tim leans into his side. “And comedy.”
Kon grins. “Perfect.”
They settle in, Tim tucked against Kon like he belongs there. Which—Kon thinks with his whole heart—he does.
The movie starts.
Kon lasts exactly ten minutes before he gives up on not touching Tim.
He presses a kiss to the top of Tim’s head.
Then another behind his ear.
Another on his cheek.
Tim makes a soft, breathless noise that goes straight through Kon’s chest.
“Kon,” he murmurs, half-warn, half-plea.
“You’re so kissable,” Kon whispers, kissing the corner of his jaw. “It’s very distracting.”
“You’re supposed to be watching the movie.”
“I’m watching something better.”
Tim’s breath catches as Kon tilts his chin up between gentle fingers. Their lips meet—slow at first, then deeper, warm and dizzying. Tim’s small exhale melts against Kon’s mouth and Kon feels his heart actually stutter.
Tim breaks away for air, face flushed, eyes soft and glassy.
“Kon…” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I won’t make it through the movie if you keep that up.”
Kon cups his cheek, thumb brushing the warm skin. “Who said I wanted you to?”
Tim wants to argue—but he never gets the chance.
Kon kisses him again, longer, sweeter, until Tim’s fingers curl in his shirt and his breath goes thin and uneven. When they finally pull apart, Tim is pink, dazed, and leaning heavily against Kon’s chest.
He tries—he really tries—to focus on the screen.
He lasts maybe fifteen minutes.
Kon glances down when he feels the weight shift. Tim has gone completely limp against him, cheek pressed to Kon’s chest, breathing slow and even. He must have fallen asleep mid-scene, still warm from the kisses Kon spoiled him with.
Kon’s expression softens instantly.
He tucks the blanket higher. Wraps both arms around Tim’s small frame. Kisses the top of his head, feather-light.
“You’re so cute,” he whispers into Tim’s hair. “My sleepy little genius.”
Tim sighs softly in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into Kon’s warmth, trusting and safe.
Outside, the snow falls quietly.
Inside, Kon holds Tim like he’s the most precious thing in the world.
And he is.