Chapter 48
Timothy lay back down.
Colt pulled the quilt up, hiding his hands beneath it, touched his lips, which were still numb and burning.
What was Timothy thinking? Was their relationship that of classmates, friends, or something else?
“Can't sleep?” Timothy asked softly, then turned onto his side and tapped his ear. "The communication channel is open, want to chat?"
Even with one leg limping and an injury on his waist, I really don't know why he's still so restless!
Colt also turned over to face Timothy. He had originally wanted to ask Timothy why he had been trapped in a mine with the blondie and why he hadn't called his super friends for help, but his thought transformation automatically changed the content.
Silver is also a metal, so can silver hair also be called blonde?
Silver and platinum are similar, so some people indeed can't tell the difference between the two and call silver hair blonde." Timothy put his hands under his head and asked curiously, "Do you want to dye your hair?
Don't you think gold looks better than silver?" Colt also put his hands under his head. "Like brilliant sunshine, it looks very warm.
If you're talking about warmth, red is more passionate." Timothy paused, his voice devoid of emotion. "Why does it have to be gold? Because of Bernard?
Colt rolled over to lie flat on his back, "Why do you ask?"
You looked at him three times last night." Timothy also rolled over to lie on his back. "You rarely look at others so closely. Is there something special about him?
I suspect he's the blondie who's going to make you come out later—is that something I should be saying? And in a situation like last night, you actually observed me a few times, you blondie?
Colt thought about it, but his answer was very cautious: "He doesn't seem to be very brave; he's quite afraid of ghosts, yet he actually dared to enter the mine for an investigation, which surprised me." Gotham's underground had been almost entirely hollowed out, currently, almost all the mines that could still be mined were two thousand meters below the surface. In the mines, human lives were cheaper than oxygen; anyone who dared to go down into a mine must certainly be quite brave.
“You think he's brave and warm?” Timothy's voice sounded a bit strange.
Colt thought the blonde was an eyesore, his personality was an even bigger eyesore; he was always trying to get close to Timothy at school, even when he was looking for trouble, he never forgot to send Timothy messages.
"It's okay, I guess." Colt gritted his teeth as he deleted a long string of derogatory remarks, instead issuing a neutral comment.
"Yeah, it's fine." Timothy was also gritting his teeth slightly.
Neither of them spoke again.
The medicine Timothy took contained sleeping components, after a period of silence, Colt finally heard the familiar rustling sound.
Timothy was asleep, but even in his sleep, he still had a furrowed brow.
Colt used his Spiritual Power to trace Timothy's facial features and eyes, then took the Little Red Bird from the depths of the bedside drawer and stroked the Little Red Bird's crest.
Dating? The marriage kind.
The voice transmitted through the hearing aid was still as gentle as ever, so beautiful and sincere that it only ever appeared in dreams.
Colt couldn't sleep.
He silently slid off the bed and went to the basement to modify the wheelchair. The electric wheelchair provided by Alfred was already quite good; although its speed couldn't compare to the Batmobile, it could still reach 180, the armrests could even deploy tranquilizer darts.
Colt felt it wasn't enough. He found the spare flight modules from the Flying Skateboard, salvaged usable parts from the damaged armor, made some slight modifications, assembled them onto the wheelchair.
The Shield Protector automatically activates during high-speed travel or flight, the side panels can be detached to serve as Vibranium shields. The right armrest is used to store tranquilizer darts, the left armrest is for concealing a retractable staff, there is also a small desktop with an embedded computer.. Time was too limited, so it could only be modified like this.
The wheelchair's appearance is somewhat ugly, but if one calls it mechanical art, then this ugliness could also be considered beauty.
Colt personally test-drove it; the operation of attaching and detaching the Shield Protector might be a bit difficult for an ordinary person, but it certainly wouldn't be too much for Red Robin.
Colt placed the wheelchair back by the bedside. Timothy was still sleeping, his brow furrowed even more tightly as he let out faint, fragmented muttering. The Hearing Aid was perhaps too "considerate"; it filtered out the background noise in the sleep-talking, allowing the sound to reach Colt's ears with perfect clarity.
Blond Hair……
Blond hair. Not a blonde, as blond usually refers to males, Timothy dreamed of a blond male.
Colt suspected that Timothy would ride the wheelchair he assembled to go find that blond-haired guy!
Absolutely not!
Colt was just about to dismantle the wheelchair, but Timothy's next words, "My dear Reader.." discouraged him. Colt reached out through the air to stroke Timothy's furrowed brow, then turned around and dismantled the dream-version [Knowledge Explorer]'s treatment apparatus.
For the sake of "my dear Reader."
..
Timothy had a nightmare.
In a way, Gotham was quiet and peaceful in the dream, with crime rates continuously declining. Not only did the Demon Brat inherit the Bat mantle, but he also successfully drove him out of Wayne, leaving him to spend every day with nothing but coffee for company. Yet, he lived a life of ease thanks to his trust fund, traveling the world with Colt as his main occupation and serving as Colt's photographer as his side job.. This should be considered a good dream.
If there wasn't a blonde clinging to Colt's side.
Timothy swore he had nothing against blond hair, but the blond hair in his dream made him feel so dark that he desperately wanted a Demon Brat to possess him so he could assassinate someone. Of course, he didn't kill anyone, not even in his dreams. Red Robin's moral standards were just that high; Timothy simply crafted thirty different blond wigs to wear every day, switching through them to highlight the difference between golden blonde and yellowish hair.
It itched, as if countless ants were crawling over his wounds, a hand was also groping around his waist, making him feel warm, as if he were enveloped in sunlight.
There are very few people who can make Red Robin lower his guard; even with so many people in the Wayne household, only Alfred and Cassandra, who don't use blackmail to manipulate others, can mess with him while he is asleep.
Colt is the exception.
Timothy opened his eyes, the rippling expression on his face instantly smoothing into stillness as the erotic images in his mind shattered into fragments. He was indeed under a light, but it was merely the light from a treatment lamp. Colt was also groping around his waist, but only to check on the healing of his wounds.
Don't move.
Colt pressed one hand against Timothy's shoulder and held the field treatment light equipped on the Knowledge Explorer with the other, waiting for the red light to turn green before lightly pressing against the hard blood scab.
“Does it still hurt?”
Timothy didn't answer. He reached out and touched the dark circles under Colt's eyes, asking softly, "You didn't sleep all night just to use the treatment lamp for me?"
Colt shook his head. "I only did one emergency treatment. Two more sessions here should be enough for a full recovery."
One emergency course requires four sessions, each lasting 15 minutes with a 10-minute break in between, totaling 90 minutes. Timothy calculated the time in his head, then stood up and saw a wheelchair placed by the bedside, which was full of mechanical artistry.
“What is this?” Timothy asked.
A wheelchair. I modified it a bit, adding a Flying Skateboard function, specifically made it waterproof so you can sit in it to take a bath." Colt handed the flashlight-shaped field treatment lamp to Timothy, then jumped off the bed to explain the wheelchair's features to him. ".. I left some space in the back for weapon modules, so you can install them if needed.
So you really didn't sleep all night." Timothy tapped the cast on his leg with the flashlight. "It's just a hairline fracture, not an amputation. If Alfred hadn't insisted, I wouldn't even have needed a cast.
Yeah, getting injured is as simple as eating a meal for a Vigilante. I don't just need to modify this wheelchair; I'll need to build a few spare prosthetics in advance." Colt placed Timothy into the wheelchair, "Give it a try. If anything feels off, we can adjust it.
Timothy grabbed Colt's hand as he was fastening his seatbelt and called his name, "Colt.."
Colt didn't wait for the second half of his sentence and looked up.
Timothy watched him quietly, something churning in his eyes; though ice blue is a cold color, it gave off a scorching, burning sensation. Colt remained in that bent-over posture, his gaze seemingly melting like hot glue, gradually bonding with Timothy's eyes, becoming impossible to separate..
Chirp
Amidst the chirping, Birdie rushed out from its exclusive bird path, landing on Colt's shoulder to nuzzle and roll around, even hopped onto Timothy's head to peck at him.
Colt blinked, pulling his hand away from Timothy's grasp, searched everywhere for his phone to remotely turn on the television downstairs for Birdie.
Timothy also cleared his throat, took the bird that was bouncing on his head, smiled at it.
The bird tilted its head, its black bean-like eyes staring at the smiling Timothy, suddenly shuddered. The bird squeezed out of Timothy's palm, rushed into Colt's arms, rubbed its head against Colt's chin, then flapped its wings toward Timothy.
Cheep
Colt kissed the furry little head, "The TV is on, go take a look."
Birdie flapped its wings and flew away.
Colt looked at Timothy again, but the disrupted atmosphere could not return to what it once was.
"What were you trying to say just now?" Colt asked.
Timothy answered seriously, "I can't guarantee that I won't be injured or disabled, but I promise to do my best to protect myself in every mission."
That sounds like a promise.
Colt took away the treatment lamp and pushed the wheelchair toward the bathroom. "The life support system of the [Knowledge Explorer] is also equipped with a treatment pod; do you want to try soaking in it?"
“That can save lives, the medicinal liquid is limited, so it's better to save it for emergencies." Timothy turned on the computer display on the small side table and adjusted the hovering height of the wheelchair until he was at eye level with Colt.
"Good morning, Colt." Timothy kissed Colt's cheek.
You haven't brushed your teeth yet. Fine, if it's just a kiss on the cheek, it's not like I've washed my face either.
"Good morning, Tim," Colt said, leaning in to kiss him, kissing his cheek as well.
Timothy lowered the wheelchair to the ground and said with a smile, "It feels great to see you the moment I open my eyes; I hope you can experience it for yourself tomorrow morning."
It sounds like an invitation, or more precisely, it is an invitation. In short, the first morning after sharing a bed was quite pleasant.
Well, that's not including the loot box opening session after the meal.
Thirty golden wigs were opened, Colt wasn't the only one whose face changed color.
Timothy's face was as pale as ash. What he had intended to bring into reality was clearly a world travel photo album! Why did the dream decide that because he wore a wig every day, he must love wigs! Couldn't it be a bit more intelligent, like listening to his heartbeat?
Colt gritted his teeth: Timothy's type is definitely blondies!
The wigs varied in length, with colors ranging from dark blonde to light gold. Every single one was of top quality, looking more real than actual hair, some even came in pre-styled elven prince designs.
Colt smiled in relief. "That's great, no need to dye your hair then."
Birdie pecked at a sunflower seed, tilting its little head to look at this one, then that one, before flapping its wings with great awareness of the atmosphere, indicating that it was going to go exercise.
Colt put away the wig and began assigning tasks: "You go adapt to the new wheelchair, while you're at it, keep an eye on Robin Bird so he doesn't fly too far. I bought some things and left them in New York; I'll be back before noon."
This was no excuse.
The house needs a major shopping trip, the supermarket doesn't deliver to Oak Tree Manor. Colt sent the shopping list to Tony's smart butler last night. Edwin just notified him that the goods have been fully prepared and have been delivered to his room in Avengers Tower, are just waiting for him to pick them up.
Of course, a trip to New York wouldn't take the whole morning. Colt had checked the blond man's hospital bed number at Wayne, he planned to record the blond man's biological information at the hospital after he finished picking up the items.
Colt discussed nutrition with Edwin, which delayed him for more than half an hour at Avengers Tower. By the time he arrived at Wayne with several large and small bags in hand, he hadn't even reached the blond man's hospital room before he spotted Timothy's back.
Colt hid behind a wall and checked his positioning watch; the needle showed that Timothy was still at Oak Tree Manor. Timothy clearly wasn't wearing a positioning watch, as he didn't want Colt to know he had come to see the blond man.
Why did Timothy come here? He didn't seem to have a particularly close relationship with the blond guy back at school. Could it be that their relationship changed under the fate of the [plot] during the month he was away?
Colt's mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts as he calculated Timothy's blind spots, cautiously peeking out to observe, only to find the two of them in a heated atmosphere, their eyes looking as if they were about to spit fire.
The intense gaze was caught by Red Robin's perception, Timothy suddenly turned his head.
Colt ducked his head even faster than he had turned around, switching to using the Quantum Terminal to hack into the ward's surveillance to observe the scene, while simultaneously adjusting the reception range of his Hearing Aid to focus on the sounds within the ward.
Timothy chatted warmly with the blond boy about life and studies, praising him for being kind and brave, even provided him with a recommendation letter for the Wayne Scholarship Fund. The blond boy was so moved that he was practically ready to give himself to him.
Colt wanted to rush in and tell Timothy that the blondie couldn't cook, couldn't fix cars, had a shooting accuracy of only 60% in his physical exams, ran the 800 meters in 4 minutes and 32 seconds, had two spelling errors in the English essay he submitted this week, averaged only Bs in his German minor assignments, had freckles on his face, was predicted to be less than 1.8 meters tall in the future, was too poor to afford a diamond ring, made crude jokes to girls..