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    Summary

    The hotel lobby smelled like burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. Jason Todd stood at the front desk, arms crossed, glaring at the night clerk like the man had personally offended every ancestor he’d ever had.

    “One bed?” Jason repeated, voice flat.

    The clerk shrugged, clearly past caring. “Conference in town. We’re booked solid. Only room left is the king suite. Sorry, kid.”

    Tim Drake hovered a few steps behind, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. His cheeks were already faintly pink. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “We’ve shared worse.”

    JayTim Week Day 8- One Bed

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