If he were to get a nosebleed..
No, he had always been ascetic, passing by countless H-sites without a second glance; he would never suffer a nosebleed.
But that was Timothy.
He couldn't touch anyone else, but Timothy could. His hands were so warm, the calluses on his palms were so pleasantly itchy, his lips were so soft and wonderful to kiss, if only..
Colt was a bit worried that his vigorous, eighteen-year-old body wouldn't cooperate later, so he prepared the Diamond Sutra, intending to play it while helping him bathe.
Play it through the hearing aid; he can't let Timothy know his intentions are impure.
“Dating? The marriage kind.”
Timothy's voice suddenly rang out.
Colt's mind went blank, he sat frozen, not daring to turn his head. He suspected there was something wrong with his hearing aid; otherwise, why would Timothy confess his feelings to him?
Was this a confession? Or a marriage proposal?
Colt thought hard.
Falling in love? The marriage kind.
Timothy's voice rang out again, still the same words, but the source was not from behind him, but from the Birdie.
Colt stared expressionlessly at the bird's nest.
Birdie pecked at his new companion, Little Red Bird, who then spoke in Red Robin's voice: "Want to fall in love? Like, the marriage kind."
Colt's heart was as calm as still water.
Birdie stared at him with black bean eyes, tilted its head, continued to peck at the tuft of feathers sticking up on the top of Little Red Bird's head.
“Want to date? The marriage kind.”
Want to date? The marriage kind.
..
Enough!
Colt looked down and searched around, picking up the Joker and replacing the playmate that Birdie was pecking at so enthusiastically.
Birdie was biting Little Red Bird's tail and wouldn't let go.
"One extra hour of television tomorrow," Colt stated as his condition.
Birdie loosened its beak, agreeing to the trade. The bird stepped on Joker's head, pushing and shoving it out of the nest, then fell asleep from exhaustion.
Colt studied the Little Red Bird seriously. It was just a little toy cobbled together from leftover parts from the Knowledge Explorer—a bird-shaped drone with recording, playback, calling functions, its camera was only 20 megapixels.
Colt remembered that the Little Red Bird in his dream hadn't said this. He entered the drone's control backend, reviewed the stored files, listened to them one by one, until he opened an audio file with a heart symbol as its filename.
Dating? The kind where you get married.
That's the one.
Colt hid this voice message in the background, keeping the function to automatically play it when the crest is stroked, but the audio would no longer play out loud; instead, it would be sent directly to his hearing aid. Given Timothy's personality, even if he truly had feelings for him, he wouldn't confess his love so flippantly in a dream. It must have been his own wandering thoughts while he was fiddling with the Little Red Bird in his dream, which had affected the dream's manifestation.
He put away Little Red Bird, patted the sleeping Birdie, quietly left the study, continuing his mental preparation for his upcoming bath.
Perhaps his mental preparation was a bit excessive.
Colt had just found pajamas for Timothy and was gathering his courage to call someone over when he saw Timothy gliding out of the bathroom on a skateboard.
Timothy had already finished bathing; he was wearing a bathrobe with a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair still dripping with water. He sat sideways, his injured leg resting on the skateboard. A waterproof cover was slipped directly over his thigh, which was also wrapped in waterproof tape, his waist injury had been waterproofed as well.. As a vigilante who was frequently injured, Timothy's survivability was simply terrifyingly strong!
Eight showers were for nothing!
Colt set down the pajamas expressionlessly, moved Timothy onto the sofa, handed Timothy the hair dryer, then leaned over to dismantle the waterproof setup and check the cast.. Colt looked straight ahead, ignoring the firm chest and strong waist; even when his hands wrapped around Timothy's waist while applying the bandages, his face was nearly pressed against Timothy's shoulder, his breathing remained steady.
Three wraps of bandages were wound around his waist, then tied into a bow. Colt did not take the opportunity to grope or linger; his movements were very natural and efficient.
Next was applying medicine to the abrasions.
Phew.. the simulation for disinfecting, applying medicine, bandaging wasn't in vain.
Colt moved behind Timothy, finally ceasing his held breath, slowly inhaling, then exhaling softly. He closed his eyes to confirm his hands were not trembling, before using a cotton swab dipped in medicine to apply a thin layer across that beautiful back.
Timothy's shoulders and back weren't particularly broad, but the muscles twitching slightly under the cotton swab seemed to harbor immense explosive power.
It wasn't just an illusion. Red Robin's elbow strikes and shoulder checks could easily knock out a grown man, he could even use his core strength to launch a person into the air while suspended, his legs clamping around a heavy man.
Combat videos of Red Robin from the internet flashed through Colt's mind, along with images of Timothy training.
Half a minute felt as slow as an hour, yet as fast as three seconds.
Timothy was a bit distracted; he dried his left hair, but the right side remained wet. He put down the hair dryer, pulled his bathrobe tight, took the tweezers and medicine bottle from Colt's hands.
You go wash up; I'll handle the one in front myself.
Colt breathed a sigh of relief, though he felt a bit of regret. He quickly brushed his teeth, took a shower, checked the time, then spent five minutes drying his hair—reaching his usual average time spent in the bathroom—before walking out with his hair sticking out in all directions.
Timothy had already changed into pajamas, a blanket draped over his legs, was looking at something on his laptop. Seeing Colt come out, he picked up the hair dryer and patted the seat beside him.
The hair was already dry, so it was fine even without drying it.
Colt thought this to himself, but he sat down submissively, placing his hands on his knees and sitting upright to receive the patient's hair-drying service.
Timothy said this was to thank him for helping to apply the medicine.
The room temperature was 26 degrees, the air was warm, Timothy's hands were warm too. His fingers wove through the hair, his fingertips massaging the scalp from time to time, nearly sending Colt into a deep sleep.
"There, all done." Timothy turned off the hairdryer.
Colt blinked his eyes, which were covered by his bangs, blew a breath; his hair flew up lightly before settling back down, covering his eyes once again.
Timothy reached out to brush them aside for him, "Do you want to get them fixed?"
Colt was not wearing his hearing aid, so he couldn't hear what Timothy said, but he could understand his meaning. He pulled at a strand of hair to test it; his bangs had already grown down past his nose; they had indeed grown.
Colt had a unique way of cutting hair. He leaned down and bowed his head, letting his smooth, silky hair hang in front of him like a waterfall, then combed it smooth, gathered it at his forehead into a ponytail, finally stood before a trash can, picking up a pair of scissors to snip away with a series of "snip-snip" sounds.
"God, you can't ruin your hair like that!" Timothy protested.
Colt pulled out the rubber band, stood up, shook his head.
Timothy swallowed his words of "I'll cut it, I'll cut it," as the sparrow-like short hair that had been pressing against Colt's forehead just now became more layered, looking like long, textured hair meticulously trimmed by a hairstylist.
Colt satisfiedly smoothed his bangs.
He couldn't accept being bald, nor did he like the botched haircut Joseph gave him. It was a bizarre hair-cutting technique he had learned online; it didn't require a mirror, left no loose hair scattered all over the floor, the style looked natural. As for the issue of men having long hair being too niche, he was already so niche that he was the only person in the world, so he didn't care about being even more niche.
At ten o'clock at night, both of them sat on the bed.
One bed, but one quilt for each person.
Colt was rushing to finish his homework, while Timothy was holding his laptop, writing a mission report.
At ten-thirty, Colt finished his own history homework and helped Timothy write a world history essay on the side, while Timothy was busy in a video conference with employees on the other side of the Earth Simulator. Of course, he didn't turn on his camera and used a default avatar.
At eleven o'clock, Timothy announced the end of the meeting with brevity and strength, Colt also finished his essay, "On the Importance of the Heart to the Human Body," while also casually writing a companion piece, "The Heart: The Most Important Organ in the Human Body."
It's time to sleep.
Colt rubbed his stomach. "Are you hungry? There are two flavors of self-heating rice in the treasure chest—beef curry and braised beef. Which one do you want?"
Timothy didn't choose. He closed his laptop and placed it between the two of them, then pulled out a stylus and placed it on the laptop, letting Colt spin it.
Point to yourself for 1, point to me for 2.
Colt had never played this kind of game, his mind began to automatically apply formulas to calculate the odds, but he erased the equations the very next second. He refused rational calculation, instead twirling the capacitive pen gently between his fingers, leaving the choice to fate.
Fate was not on Colt's side. Even though he was very skilled at spinning pens, he failed to perform well tonight; the pen flew onto the quilt, its tip pointing at Timothy.
No eating in bed!
Colt placed Timothy in front of the electric fireplace in the living room, then sat on the carpet himself and opened two boxes of self-heating rice, which needed ten minutes to cook. Hearing the sound of someone shifting on the sofa, Colt turned his head to look at Timothy, who showed absolutely no awareness of being an injured patient.
Timothy moved over to Colt's side, his uninjured leg pressing against Colt's, placed his hand on Colt's head, stroking him like a cat. Colt's head instinctively leaned closer to Timothy, his eyes half-closed, nearly making a purring sound in his throat.
In the end, they both got to eat the braised beef and curry beef, they also finished a half-jin box each of cherries and a box each of cream strawberries, before squeezing together by the sink to brush their teeth and rinse their mouths.
Colt felt a bit embarrassed to relieve himself in front of Timothy. Even though the bathroom had a dry and wet separation, where washing up, using the toilet, showering were not in the same area, Colt still took advantage of the moment Timothy bent over to wash his face to quickly take care of his business, hoping the sound of the running faucet would mask the sound of him urinating.
Timothy didn't seem to have such concerns; he squeezed toothpaste for him quite naturally, when it came to relieving himself, he was completely open and uninhibited, without any hint of awkwardness.
The Wayne family has so many members, with more siblings than one can count, when you add in Red Robin and that bunch of young vigilantes from the Teen Titans, it's only natural that Timothy has plenty of experience living with others.
It certainly has nothing to do with the blond hair..
Colt tried his best to act natural. He heard the sound of a toilet flushing behind the glass wall, then, with speed comparable to teleportation, he darted over to grab Timothy, who was trying to leap out like a rabbit.
There were two faucets at the sink, but even with four hands crowded under a single faucet, it wouldn't be cramped.
This is water conservation. Water purifiers require electricity, this also saves power.
Colt had always been frugal and believed it was perfectly normal for two people to share a single faucet, until someone intentionally splashed water on him; he hesitated for half a second before splashing it right back.
Gotham is by the sea and has rain 300 days a year, so water resources are very abundant; there's no need to be too frugal.
A minute later, both of their pajamas were soaked.
Colt huffed and puffed while mopping the bathroom floor, while Timothy used a hair dryer to blow air onto the cast on his leg.
At twelve o'clock, the two finally crawled under the covers, turned off the lights, went to sleep.
Colt lay flat on his back, hands folded over his lower abdomen, in a posture so standard he could have gone straight into a coffin. He maintained a steady breathing rhythm, counting sheep up to a thousand, yet he still hadn't heard that familiar rustling sound.
The mattress vibrated as Timothy turned over.
Colt opened one eye and saw Timothy propping himself up to get ready, hurriedly reached under the pillow to find his hearing aid and put it on.
There was no groan of unbearable pain.
Timothy sat up halfway, leaning in close to Colt, brushing the hair away from his face as he whispered, "I forgot to say goodnight."
In the darkness, Timothy's eyes were indistinguishable, leaving only a blurred silhouette visible, while a gentle, airy voice reached his ears, the warm breath caused the temperature of his face to rise. His breathing rhythm became difficult to stabilize; he felt as though the air he inhaled had just been circulating within the other person's chest, giving him the sensation of being marinated by the other's breath.
I brushed my teeth!
Colt thought with righteous indignation, then hooked his arms around Timothy's neck, tilting his head up to capture Timothy's lower lip.
Timothy's breathing was even more ragged than his, his heart was racing too; he wasn't the only one who was nervous.
Their breaths mingled together, their kiss had already crossed the boundaries of a goodnight kiss, as their young bodies grew increasingly restless.
..