This tone, this comnt, didn't sound like it was made with good intentions.
And that string of rapid-fire questions earlier, Theodore calling Jason "that dead boy," was simply too impolite.
Tim narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Theodore from head to toe.
Recalling Theodore's thods of dealing with school bullies, and his violent tendencies displayed in several incidents, Tim reasonably suspected that Theodore's empathy might be lower than average.
To put it politely: Theodore's language expression needs improvent.
To put it impolitely: You look like a young Voldemort right now.
Recalling Theodore's past actions, Tim still felt that he should trust this new brother more.
"Don't call him that."
Tim gently reminded him: "Bruce and Alfred both love Jason very much, and they would be sad if they heard you call him that."
More importantly, Jason himself had already co back from the dead.
If he caught Theodore spouting such nonsense, Red Hood would not hesitate to give his new brother a good beating.
At the sa ti, Tim gave him a look that could only be understood, not spoken.
—It's for your own good that I'm not letting you speak, understand?
Tim thought deeply: You'll understand when you see Red Hood. That nimble little boy in shorts has now beco a massive 180-pound behemoth!
Theodore nodded perfunctorily, indicating that he understood.
Understood, not letting him speak was for his own good.
Wayne could do it, but they had no right to say it.
Theodore understood the principle of words leading to trouble.
Next, Tim introduced Theodore to several other rooms.
"This is my room, this is Cassandra's room, this is Stephanie's room, Alfred lives in that one…"
As they walked and he introduced, besides the layout of the manor, Tim also briefly educated Theodore about the various mbers of the Bat Family.
That's right, the Bat Family was just such a big family!
Just like that, Tim led Theodore up to the third floor and pushed open the first room on the left.
Sunlight stread into the room, and the soft bed looked like freshly baked, fragrant bread. From the floor to the surface of the furniture, everything visible was ticulously cleaned, gleaming with a bling-bling shine.
And Tim stood at the entrance of such a wonderland-like room, smiling kindly at his new brother.
"This is your room, Theodore. If anything feels uncomfortable, you can tell us anyti."
Tim went downstairs to tackle his weekend howork, leaving Theodore alone in the room.
After standing in the center of the empty room for a while, Theodore hesitantly approached the bed and poked it with his fingertip.
The down comforter was as soft as dough, as light as marshmallow, sinking in with a touch.
The waxed floor was so reflective that stepping on it felt like a sin.
On the low cabinet not far away, various unopened gift boxes were piled up: basketballs, ga consoles, stamp albums…
Two stacks of boxes as tall as Theodore were filled with all sorts of things a teenager of this age might like.
The towering stacks of gift boxes, instead of Bruce and Alfred, expressed their sincere welco to the new mber of this manor.
Theodore didn't have the heart to sit on the obviously comfortable large bed. He pulled out the chair in front of the desk, hesitated for a mont at the Pikachu on the cushion, then pushed the armchair back.
He walked to an unfamiliar machine, cautiously circled it a few tis, and pressed the power button.
From its humming sound and the airflow it emitted, Theodore guessed that it might be an air purifier.
Perhaps so people would think he was inexperienced.
But Theodore had indeed never lived in such a luxurious and comfortable room.
Before, at na Manor, he and Timothy lived in one room, which, judging by its layout, seed to be a servant's room reserved in the manor.
Stanley's successive adopted sons all lived there.
That bedroom wasn't dilapidated, just overly simplistic.
After all, these little boys were just short-term consumables to Stanley.
Why waste a guest room on them?
Theodore once found bloody handwriting carved with fingernails inside the wardrobe:
One of his unknown brothers had written Stanley's na on the wardrobe shelf and then fiercely drawn a big cross.
In comparison, the survival rate under Wayne was actually 25% higher than under Stanley.
With a self-deprecating smile, Theodore sighed and turned around, roughly flipping open the down comforter he had just been reluctant to sit on.
He casually tossed the two pillows to the foot of the bed, pulled out the sheets, and even lifted the mattress to check it.
It wasn't a four-poster bed, and there were no places on the bed fra to hang shackles, which was good.
There were no hidden compartnts in the nightstand, nor were there ropes, whips, or inappropriate small toys stuffed in it, which was also good.
After his repeated checks, there were no lubricants or condoms hidden under the pillows either, which was perfectly fine.
With the caution of a bomb disposal expert, Theodore thoroughly searched the bed from top to bottom, finally relaxing his brow.
He breathed a sigh of relief, but not entirely.
After all…
What if Wayne didn't like to wear them, and just preferred the feeling of no obstruction?!
Given that n couldn't get pregnant, that possibility couldn't be ruled out, could it?!
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