Because his classmate had suddenly become his next-door neighbor, he was going to the Metropolis Zoo tomorrow to see pandas with him, he woke up earlier than usual in an excited mood. He habitually checked the Dream Station, only to find that Timothy had pulled another all-nighter. Seeing him happily humming inside a progress bar speech bubble, he grew so angry that he grabbed Birdie and headed straight to his door.
Birdie stirred, spreading its wings to cover its head, its belly rising and falling as it was clearly not yet fully awake.
Timothy thought for a moment. "If I say I just woke up early, will you believe me?"
Colt said nothing, simply pulling a dropper of high-potency anesthetic from another pocket.
A powerful threat.
Timothy quickly finished washing up, changed his clothes, got into bed under the covers.
He closed his eyes and opened them again.
Colt had been keeping his back to him since he started changing his clothes, the tips of his ears still slightly flushed red.
Timothy asked, "Is my sleep that important to you?"
Colt did not answer.
Timothy asked again, "What do you think I'll dream about?"
Colt turned around, his sparkling eyes full of anticipation: "I guess a mountain of gold as high as Mount Everest?"
Timothy closed his eyes.
Colt wanted to shake him and ask if his guess was correct!
I feel like Timothy has already discovered the Dream Binding and is intentionally baiting him; it's so frustrating!
Batman is omnipotent; it is only natural that Red Robin, as the Robin who most resembles Batman, would notice the Dream Binding.
Colt had no intention of hiding the Dream Binding, otherwise he wouldn't have let Timothy see the coffee cup and drink the specialty coffee from the dream.
If an ordinary person found the coffee and coffee cups they dreamed of appearing repeatedly in someone else's home, they would naturally become suspicious, let alone a meticulous Vigilante.
One thinks of things during the day and dreams of them at night. If Timothy were willing to cooperate and control his dreams within a certain range, he could certainly increase the minimum guarantee of the Dream Treasure Chest.
Timothy fell asleep.
Colt let Birdie out to exercise and lose weight, while he himself leaned against the window to watch the bird's workout, all while doing his homework and waiting for Timothy to wake up.
The pleasant rustling sound flowing through his mind gave him the illusion that he was waiting for a duck to lay an egg.
Alfred knocked on the door and entered the room with breakfast at 8:15.
Colt's train of thought was interrupted, he set down the math problem he was halfway through solving.
Timothy sat up stiffly like a zombie, seeing Colt by the window, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank you, Alfred, can I have an extra serving of breakfast?
Alfred raised an eyebrow slightly and followed Timothy's gaze.
He didn't see anyone, but a white lab coat was draped over the beanbag chair in front of the windowsill, clearly not Timothy's size, with an open bird food can resting on top of it.
“Yes, Master Timothy, please wait a moment.”
As soon as Alfred stepped out, Colt quickly put away the bird food and picked up his coat, draping it over his arm.
Sorry, your butler might have noticed an outsider in the room.
Joseph's clothes were a bit too large for Colt; when he crouched down, they would always drag on the ground and make him prone to tripping. He had only just taken them off and set them aside, never expecting they would become a weakness.
"Alfred is more than just a butler; Alfred is our grandfather. He is the most trustworthy person, he will keep secrets for us." Timothy stretched and opened the wardrobe.
He picked out a light blue casual shirt and handed it to Colt.
Colt looked at him, then at the shirt, but he still took it, unbuttoned it, handed it back.
“I'm just letting you wear it,” Timothy said with a smile, shaking his head. "You can't actually wear a sack every day just because you look like you're walking a runway in one."
"I've only ever worn Dad's clothes." Colt felt like the shirt was burning his hands.
Timothy rubbed his chin, looking him up and down: "Are you a germaphobe?"
Colt shook his head.
Why not give it a try?" Timothy said. "Just do it for my eyes' sake.
Colt looked into his eyes, his icy blue eyes full of sincerity and anticipation.
As someone who could see him, it was only natural for Timothy to make aesthetic demands for the sake of his own eyes, it was even more natural for him to wear a classmate's clothes. Although he couldn't recall his continuous memories, he did know that throughout a single semester of high school, school blazers could be swapped five or six times, no one knew whose was whose.
Colt put on the shirt, spread his arms, spun around in a circle. "My Ghost field glows; will wearing colored clothes be weird?"
"No, not strange at all, it's wonderful," Timothy praised.
It was the truth.
When a person's face is handsome enough and their proportions are well-balanced, they won't look strange in any clothes; in fact, the clothes might look even better on them, as if they were custom-made to fit.
Timothy took himself a white shirt in a different color of the same style, along with black trousers that would never go wrong with anything.
Alfred brought up the second breakfast and set down a small dish of nuts suitable for birds.
Timothy walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair, draped a towel over his shoulder, gave Alfred a hug.
Thank you, Alfred. I'm going to the Metropolis Zoo today. Is there anything you need me to bring back?
I hope you and your friends have a wonderful time. If possible, bring back a photo of a panda; it is a treasure that Gotham longs for but cannot have.
I'll bring back a dozen, so you can pick the best ones to add to your family album.
Timothy had a very good relationship with Alfred, so good that it was as if they were born to be family.
Alfred's cooking was also excellent, so good it didn't even seem like it was made by an Englishman.
"That's because you haven't tried Alfred's waffles; they look like a pile of vomit," Timothy complained.
Even though Alfred was no longer in the room, he still lowered his voice, for fear of being overheard.
It was too late for Colt to take off his hearing aid before the sound drilled straight into his brain.
Hey, Tim, you should watch your language at the dining table; you've made me lose my appetite for these Cookies.
“Thank you, that was my intention.” Timothy brought the cookies in front of himself and gave Colt a wink with his left eye, “The pinnacle of Wayne dining etiquette, to be interpreted by the winner of the Little Cookies Battle.”
Colt couldn't believe that the elegant Timothy could be so shameless.
I am a guest.
Does that matter?
Have you ever heard of 'feeling at home'?
Sorry, I don't understand Chinese.
Timothy said in Chinese that he didn't understand Chinese.
Colt opened his mouth, nearly so angry that he spoke.
Timothy tapped the silent Snail Speaker, then tapped his left ear and took out his phone.
Come on, pair the built-in communicator with the hearing aid's signal to establish a private communication channel.
Colt's voice quickly rang out through the communicator: "Your persona has collapsed."
Timothy asked, "What is my persona?"
Colt replied without a second thought, "Smart, brave, handsome, wealthy, full of justice."
Timothy rested his chin on one hand, his eyes bright, asked with a smile, "Anything else?"
Colt frowned. "You like hearing people praise you?"
Timothy nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Praise sounds especially sweet when it comes from certain people."
Colt explained seriously, "I didn't speak; I used thought-to-text to convert it into speech. What you heard was an AI-synthesized voice. Do you need me to download a 'Complete Collection of Praises' and play it in your communicator twenty-four hours a day without interruption?"
Timothy checked the time and stood up. "It's easy to get stuck on the bridge when traveling from Gotham to Metropolis on the weekend. We should get going."
Colt began looking for Birdie.
Birdie is playing with Damian in the garden.
To be precise, it was Damian who used sunflower seeds as rewards to have the bird do addition and subtraction within ten.
Colt had an objection: "Sunflower seeds are high in fat; the doctor doesn't recommend that the Robin Bird eat too many."
Timothy comforted him, saying, "Look on the bright side. To eat an extra sunflower seed, the Robin Bird has to flap his wings several times, so it counts as exercise."
Colt shook the crushed nuts prepared by Alfred on the balcony.
Birdie flew over, abandoning Damian, landed on the railing like a plane crash; he took a few sideways steps to steady himself before thrusting his head into the dish.
Colt quickly put away the nut crumbs and replaced them with tasteless but expensive canned bird food. He placed a note with drawings of the Zoo and a house in front of the bird.
To the Zoo, or home?
Birdie tilted its head, its small, black-bean-like eyes staring at the words on the paper in thought.
Colt added a television under the house, then drew a big X on the television.
No TV.
Birdie turned around and jumped off the building without hesitation, not even bothering to spread its wings mid-flight, landing directly in the palms of Damian's hands as he walked over. The bird rolled once and settled into his cupped hands.
Timothy had already packed his things; leaning against the balcony, he leaned forward and asked Damian, "How about I take care of the Robin Bird for you, bring you a gift when I return?"
Damian did not refuse. He held up Birdie and said seriously, "This is Thoth, he is a North American Robin, not a European Robin."
Thoth is the Egyptian god of wisdom, as well as the god of mathematics and medicine.
You can't discriminate against the North American Robin for using Robin Bird as a name, you little stick-in-the-mud.
Timothy left the balcony before Damian could get annoyed. He gave Colt a meaningful look, then locked the window to prevent any wild surveillance from growing in the room.
Timothy refused Colt's help. With a backpack slung over his shoulder, a leftover tray in one hand, a trash bag hanging from his pinky, a laundry basket in the other, he used his foot to close the door, his persona as an elegant young master completely shattered.
Fine, the elegant young gentleman is Master Wayne, Timothy is Timothy.
Timothy, full of life, lacked the distant alienation of someone on a podium; he was a peer who could be approached.
Chapter 31