#this is kenza & amy lore and nothing else

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Dick stopped halfway through the living room in what he assumed was a comical kind of double-take, and for a moment, he considered walking away again. It might be worth it. 

Eventually, however, his curiosity got the better of him. Dick set his laptop on the coffee table and pulled up a chair, settling into the seat with his hands steepled in front of his face. 

“Hey,” said Tim, from his position on the couch. 

“Why?”

“Evil plan.” Without further explanation, Tim plucked the source of Dick’s confusion from a coaster and feigned a toast. 

“That’s milk,” said Dick, just to confirm. 

“Yeah.”

“Regular milk?”

“Yeah.”

“With whipped cream on it.”

“Exactly,” said Tim happily. 

Dick leaned back in his chair and waited. Tim stared back. 

“Please explain,” said Dick, giving in.

“So I was in the kitchen the other day,” Tim began, gesturing with his milk, “and I remembered that we bought strawberry syrup to use on the ice cream.”

“Right.”

“And I thought that might be good in milk,” Tim continued, “because I use the chocolate syrup in milk all the time.”

“Okay.”

“So I’m pouring in the strawberry stuff, and I notice Damian on the other side of the room. He’s making faces.”

“Ah,” said Dick. He was beginning to see where this was going. 

“Disgust,” Tim said. “Fear, even.”

“He hates milk.”

“Apparently.”

“Bruce doesn’t like it either.”

“Genetic trait,” Tim agreed. “Oh, showtime.”

Dick turned toward the living room door in front of them— towards the footsteps in the hallway— while Tim looked down at his book, feigning disinterest. Damian appeared in the doorway, opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. 

“Drake,” he said, in apparent horror. 

“Hm?” Tim asked. He took an innocent sip of his milk while the whipped cream floated at the top of the tilting glass. 

Damian retreated without another word, backing out of the doorway and into the hall. The sound of his hurried footsteps died away within seconds. Dick imagined him taking the stairs two at a time in his attempt to escape. 

Tim set down his milk with a satisfied smile. “I’ve been escalating for days,” he said proudly. “He hasn’t bothered me since we started.”

Dick pointed at the whipped-cream-milk. “That can’t taste good.”

“It’s not bad actually, just dairy on dairy. I don’t see the problem.”

“Hm.”

“I tried my first glass this morning. The bottom third has all the sugar in it.”

“Gross.”

“Best part.”

“How long has—” Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to know, really, but he asked anyway. “How long has this been going on?”

“A week?” Tim shrugged. “A little less? I’m on my second gallon of milk.”

“That’s so much milk.”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

“Nah. Milk’s good.”

“I mean by itself, yeah,” Dick agreed. He would give Tim that much. “I think the strawberry milk sounds fine.”

“There you go.”

“How long are you…?”

“At least past Tuesday,” said Tim cheerfully. “That’s when my carbonated milk arrives.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I ordered in bulk.”

“Whipped cream until then?”

“Oh no, I’m about to do so much worse.”

Dick blinked in anticipation. It was getting hard to hold a straight face. “What did you do?”

“I bought Jolly Rancher-flavored syrup,” said Tim, with perhaps the biggest grin Dick had ever seen on Tim’s face. “Obviously.”

“That’ll—” Oh, that was good, Dick thought, choking back a reluctant laugh. That was very good. “That’ll do it.”

“I put the bottle in the fridge yesterday. It’s bright blue. Can’t miss it. He knows it’s coming.”

Dick lost his composure entirely at that. He couldn’t help it, not with Tim laughing gleefully on the couch in front of him, so he let it go and laughed outright too. 

“I’m so proud of myself,” Tim gasped, nearly in tears.

“He’s going to crack.”

“God I hope so.”

“He’s going to kill you.”

Tim leaned so far sideways over the cushions that Dick thought he might fall over. “I’ll respect that,” he choked out.

“You’ll have it coming.”

“Oh yeah,” Tim agreed. “It’s worth it. Stop— stop laughing before he comes to investigate and we can— oh no.”

Tim cut himself off just before Bruce came in, eyebrows raised, to stare at them. Dick stared back, trying for innocence, but failing. He could feel the corners of his mouth turning up, so he put a hand over his face to hide. 

“Hey,” said Tim. 

Bruce looked down at the table, at the glass of milk. The whipped cream was wilting now, melting into the liquid below. 

“No,” said Bruce, turning away. “I— no.” He left immediately, pulling the door shut behind him, while Dick and Tim burst into laughter for a second time. 

-----------

@kurawastaken said: Conversation about Milk