Malcolm Bright

Tim figures he could make the jump. It's a muggy sort of humid that reminds him of Gotham City nights, and the urge to be out (by the docks, learning how these gangs move) is almost unbearable. But he's in through the gate before security gets on his case for missing curfew, and casing out any weak links (hah) in the perimeter fence is an activity that will have to wait another day. Tim slinks into the proper air conditioning of the apartment building, and with summer-wet hair sticking to his neck and a light shiver, he pushes open the door to good ol' B1.

Late night, he expects to be met by a familiar and hollow nothingness. Malcolm's up, though, and that throws him off his, uh, groove.

Tim freezes for a second, like his brain's gone and needed the reboot-- he's not a kid who needs permission to be out, he reminds himself, and Tim follows up with a weak and polite smile. "'sup?"

...smooth.

"Can't sleep?"

...somehow not any better of an opener.