ᯓ★ CHAOS JUNKIE .ᐟ

Mentally, you run through the series of events that led you to this moment. You don't even react to the sheer absurdity of the situation. Instead, you stare blankly at the purple slip of paper that reads his name. 

Steph grins, her eyes dancing with amusement as she eyes your unreadable countenance. "Imagine if you got Jason again." She passes by you, holding out the top hat out to Cass for her to draw. 

Everybody chuckles at her passing comment, and you force a huff of strained laughter from your chest. The laughter sounds fake even to yourself, but nobody catches your momentary slip in composure.

Your hands clutch the slip of paper as if their laughter will rip it out of your hands into their view. You turn to Jason, who is huffing at the prospect. The two of you make eye contact, and he raises an eyebrow as if asking "You didn't get me, right?"

You chuckle softly, the smile on your face growing as you shake your head. While you hate lying to him, it is a sacrifice that will be worth it in the end.

Steph makes her rounds. You idly thumb the side of the paper as you consider what to get him. Perhaps a couple books? He'd always be happy with that. It's not like you can have a repeat of last year. Getting him his own merch loses all its charm if he knows that you're aware of his identity. Your breathing halts, body freezing as the idea streaks through your mind.

It's not like this will become a tradition.

It's a one time deal. 

You'll never get this opportunity again. Nobody expects you to get Jason twice, especially after last year's fiasco.

Slowly, you take your phone out of your pockets. It's as if the burden of this task slows your motion. You navigate your phone thoughtlessly, almost automatically, to your notes app. There is a single locked document on it. You click it.

THE plush

The underlined words are meaningless to anybody else, but you understand what they refer to. They are deceptively innocent, and that makes them all the more dangerous. 

You click on the link attached to them, loading up the page of it.

You had saved it for "emergencies" (what would constitute such an emergency, you aren't sure). Despite the absolute rage of desire that came over you the first time you saw it, you held yourself back. You understood the potential of this item. All you had to do was buy it at the right moment. That moment being the present.

The plush— marketed as "Rotund Hood," but you affectionately call "Fatson Todd"— stares up at you. His eyes, filled with little to no thought. His tiny arms and legs, dwarfed by his round figure. The little helmet.

"Who'd you get?" Jason leans against the back of the velvet couch. You jump, frantically switching to another app on your phone. He furrows his eyebrows seeing the calculator screen as you turn off your phone.

"How about you tell me first?" You prop your arm up against the back of the couch, leaning your face onto your hand.

He lets out a puff of amusement, "I ain't playing these games again. You tell me first. Not gonna have a repeat of last time."

You scoff, "A repeat? You actually think I got you again?" 

He smirks, "Tell me who ya got, and then perhaps I'll believe you. You aren't really helping your case right now, avoiding the question and all that."

You chuckle, clicking your tongue as your eyes shift away from him. "You don't just trust my word?"

He rolls his eyes, "I'm asking for it right now, aren't I?"

You purse your lips. He's not wrong. What are the chances you say that same person he has? It can't be that high. How bad would your luck have to be? Fidgeting on the couch, you accidentally bump into Cass. Instinctively, you turn to face her apologetically.

Her eyes meet your own, unblinking. You frown, muttering a soft apology. Then, slowly, her gaze drifts towards her lap, where her half-crumpled slip of paper lies. Your eyes naturally follow her own. The dark cursive ink reveals Dick's name to you. Cass doesn't look back at you.

You swallow, subtly looking away from her. "…Dick." Your words waver.

Jason raises an eyebrow, "You sure about that?"

Regaining confidence, you nod. "Absolutely. I thought you said you'd believe me if I told you." You tut disapprovingly at him.

Jason narrows his eyes playfully, "I dunno. You paused for a while there."

You narrow your eyes at him, "Yeah to build up anticipation." The unsaid "Duh" hanging in the air.

"Mhm, alright if you say so." Jason hums, patting your shoulder condescendingly.

You lightly swat at his hand, eliciting a quiet chuckle from him. "Who'd you get anyway? It's your turn." You attempt to shift the spotlight away from you.

Jason hunches over, suddenly becoming a lot more serious. He slips the paper into your hand, and you frown at it. He doesn't say a word, but he tilts his head down toward it, silently telling you to open it.

Bruce

You snort, looking back up at Jason who looks most unamused. Coughing, you attempt to hide the laughter rising in your throat. Nodding with a trembling lip, you hand it over to him. "That's great."

He scoffs, crumpling up the paper before shoving it into his pocket, likely never to be seen again. "Care to switch?" 

You chuckle, "Nah, I'm goooood. Sorry, Jay." You sit up in your seat to lightly pat his shoulder, mocking his earlier action. He doesn't shove your hand away, but he frowns at the action.

Steph passes by you two, sipping some hot cocoa. "Didn't get Jason twice, right?" She leans against the back of the couch. You force a quick laugh, shaking your head at the preposterous idea. She hums, taking another sip, "Sad to hear," she sighs, resigned. "It was probably the best thing about Christmas last year."

You raise an eyebrow, "The best?"

She nods solemnly, "I don't think I ever laughed that hard during Christmas before."

"It was pretty funny." Tim adds, nodding in agreement as he passes the three of you by.

You chuckle, and Jason crosses his arms. His eyebrows are set downward with his lip jutting out, akin to a pout. You chuckle louder at his face, and he lightly shoves you, causing you to hold onto the couch for balance. "It was funny, wasn't it?" You look up at your boyfriend, still grinning.

"Not that funny." He scoffs.

"Literally everybody was laughing." 

"I wasn't." Jason points a finger to himself in emphasis.

"Okay, well it's funny in hindsight at least?" You ask hopefully. Jason stares at you, and you nudge him lightly, "How about kinda funny? Just a tiny bit— like a tiny crumb of humor?" You raise your hand up, pressing your thumb and index finger together to emphasize your point, squinting your eyes.

"A molecule." Jason grunts.

You gasp, turning to Steph, "A molecule." You hold a hand against your chest dramatically.

She mirrors your gesture, "You must be the funniest person in this room."

You wipe an imaginary tear away from your face, "Truly an honor."

Jason looks between you two, evidently unimpressed. "I wish you two never met." You both turn to him in unison, snapping your focus onto him. He flinches, almost holding a hand up in a "Relax" motion. "I'm joking."

"He just can't handle our combined forces." Steph shakes her head at Jason. You join in, shaking your head at him. 

"No, I don't think I can." Jason responds dryly. 

"He admits it." You smirk, sparing a glance at Steph.

"About time." She grins at you.

Jason rubs his temples, "We're going to leave soon. I have patrol in an hour, and I need to head back."

You frown, "Why not just leave me here?"

Jason looks between you and Steph, "Absolutely not." He sneers, shaking his head. "You both would probably just get more bootleg shit just because you think it's funny."

You tilt your head thoughtfully, an unbidden smile flitting onto your face. "You don't know that."

He purses his lips, "No..?" He tilts his head, mirroring you. "No, I think I know that. I know you." He lightly flicks your forehead, a smirk on his face.

"Evidently not well enough. You didn't even realize I figured you out in that alley." You huff, grinning at him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but shuts it, settling to glare at you instead. He stands up, removing his weight from the back of the couch as he walks to the entrance, "Just meet me at the car." He sighs with fond exasperation. He doesn't even bother saying goodbye to anybody. To be fair, he'll probably see them all later tonight anyway. 

You say your goodbyes to his family, and Alfred escorts you out to Jason's car. You open the passenger door, ushering yourself in. "We couldn't have stayed for a bit longer?"

He huffs, giving a silent nod to Alfred before beginning to drive. "That was a bit longer. I wanted to leave twenty minutes ago."

You mentally calculate how long ago that was, "That was… before the drawing?"

He spares you an uninterested glance, as if saying "Really? I didn't know that!"

"It wasn't that bad." You relax into your seat. "I mean— At least this time, you guys didn't have to act all secretive around me." 

He huffs, "I suppose." He sighs, "I'm just glad you didn't get me again." 

You tense up imperceptibly, digging your nails into your palms as to not react. Fidgeting in your seat, you attempt to keep the unease from bleeding into your tone.

"Yep, me too."

Lugging two presents wrapped in wrapping paper covered in Red Hood's symbol did not go unnoticed by Jason, especially since one of them is massive.

"What is that?" He looks disturbed by the wrapping paper, and he gets a sense of deja vu looking at it. This situation seems very familiar.

"Gifts?" You place the presents into the trunk before closing it. 

"What did you get Dick that could possibly be that big?" He presses his face against the back car window, staring at the gifts. 

"Oh, you know… Stuff." You wave a hand dismissively, patting his arm. "Come on, we can't be late two years in a row." You walk over to your seat, opening the door and situating yourself inside. 

"Did you ever tell me what you got him?" Jason mumbles to himself. You don't think the question is meant for you, but you answer anyway.

"Eh, gymnastics stuff, circus stuff. It's Dick. Just grabbed a few pieces of clothing with questionable fashion." You shrug.

Jason's eyebrows raise, "That… Yeah, fair enough."

You tilt your head in a small bow towards him, relieved he took the bait. Thankfully, now that you are aware how your… gifts will be received, the worry that loomed over you the previous year is absent.

Now, you're not gonna be cruel to Jason. You also picked up a beautiful copy of The Odyssey and Dune. You knew he'd liked those gifts, so you didn't feel too bad about your other gift. It was lucky for you that Fatson arrived while Jason was out on patrol. You knew he would not have returned for another four hours at least, so you had wrapped it the second it arrived. Jason didn't even know it was delivered. 

The wrapping paper was a contingency plan you made last time. If the Batman paper somehow didn't work, you'd use the Red Hood version. You didn't want to use it initially; even for you, that was a bit too on the nose. When Jason forced you to give up the Batman wrapping paper, you had to withhold the grin that tried crawling its way onto your face. After all, you knew that the Red Hood wrapping paper resided in the back of your closet.

Upon arriving at the Manor, Alfred had offered to help you take the presents inside, giving you a knowing look. For a moment, you wondered if he somehow knew who you got before dismissing the inane thought. 

Upon entry, you had nearly lost it upon seeing the gifts that everybody carried. Every single one was covered in the Batman wrapping paper you had used the previous year. You cover your mouth, attempting to stifle the giggles threatening to escape you. Jason tosses you a questioning look. You shake your head, but your smile grows. "Surprisingly, I did not tell them to do this." You place your gifts onto your normal spot on the couch, Jason following closely behind you.

Jason huffs, "That's not very surprising at all, actually. I fully expected something like this—" he gestures loosely at the gifts under the tree, "—to happen."

Since you two were not the last people to arrive this time, there was actually a period where you had to wait for the exchange to begin. Steph had burst out laughing at your gift wrapping choice, and Cass gave you a small wink, smiling as she situates herself next to you. Once Jason had moved to his normal spot, you turned towards her. "Thanks for covering for me last time." Your voice is soft.

She nods at you, "Of course." She whispers back, matching your volume.

"Alright! It's time to start!" Steph walks around the coffee table in front of the couch you're on. You lean back into the couch, feeling the familiar excitement cause your heart to race. You tap the top of the gift containing Fatson Todd. 

It started off normal.

Bruce had started off, and it had progressed without issues. Then it went to Tim, which went to Barbara. As the number of people remaining dwindled, you couldn't help but find it poetic how you'd be going towards the end. Way to save the surprise for the ending.

Finally, Damian had given his gift to Cass. You shifted, feeling your heart attempt to rip it's way out of your chest with how fast it was racing. While you wouldn't be giving Jason's gift right now, this is when Jason would learn you were lying, leaving him to stew knowing that your gifts are meant for him.

It's a healthy amount of suspense.

"I got Dick." Cass grabs her gift, walking over to Dick, and handing it to him. Dick grins, offering his gratitude as he sits down to open the gift. You smile at the interaction before curiosity gets the better of you. Turning to Jason, you assess his reaction.

He's already staring at you, betrayal evident in his eyes. You smile at him, patting the gift, essentially taunting him. He flinches at the action, mouthing a soft "No." You grin at him before turning back to Dick who is opening his gift. The whole time you watch, you can feel Jason's eyes bore into you. You purposefully ignore him, feeling a sense of twisted joy at his panic.

Of course, Jason's anguished expression only gets worse upon seeing that Dick got you. Honestly, this whole situation has to be scripted. What are the chances you got Jason two years in a row and somehow lied to Jason using the person who was your Secret Santa? Probably not high, that's for sure.

That's for sure. You offer Dick your gratitude for the gift you received, and you feel your eagerness reach an all time high. Placing your gift gently to your side, you turn towards the Red Hood wrapped gifts. Slowly, you raise them up. "The person I got…" You spin around the room, and by the time you reach Jason again, his face looks actually pained. "Jason!" You hold up the gifts higher, in celebration. "For the second year in a row!" You pause, chuckling nervously. "I swear, I was just as surprised as you guys."

Dick covers his mouth to mask his delighted grin, turning to Jason to gauge his reaction. Steph lets out a bark of laughter in the background, yelling out something along the lines of "Holy shit, I called it!"

A quick glance around the room tells you that everybody is suddenly very interested in what you had to offer your boyfriend. Walking over to place the gifts into his lap, you point at the books. "You should open this one first."

He heaves an accepting sigh. "You said that last time."

You nod, "This one is good, I promise. Think of it as emotional support."

Jason's mouth sputters before he narrows his eyes at the books as if they purposefully offended him. "Are you saying I'll need emotional support?"

You grin, winking at him as you make your way back to the couch. "Did you actually get him a normal gift this time?" Duke leans over to whisper to you.

You nod, "I did actually."

The two of you turn to see Jason raise his eyebrows at the unwrapped books. You make eye contact, and he offers you a small smile and resolute nod. His shoulders droop in a false sense of relief. 

"And the other one?" Duke asks, the two of you watching as Jason hesitantly opens the bigger box. Dick leans over the back of the couch Jason is sitting on, attempting to peek inside it. Jason sends him a glare, and Dick rolls his eyes before backing off. It seems Duke isn't the only one who is curious.

Jason directs his stare towards you before looking down at the box. Dubiously, he brings the box up to his eye-level, opening the lid just enough for his eyes to peep inside. You can't see his face (as it is covered by the huge box Fatson resides in), but based on the way he closes it and places it to his side, you have an idea. 

He rests his elbow on his knee, hunching over to cover his eyes with his hand, before he mutters a single word: "Why?"

It seems that the single word broke whatever restraint Dick had because he reaches for the box. He slowly takes the lid off before turning to you with the most gleeful expression imaginable. Reverently, he hoists Fatson Todd up, presenting the plush to the world.

Instantly, the entire room breaks out into laughter. Steph rushes over to Dick to get a closer look at the plushie. The two of them gently test Fatson's tiny arms. Damian hesitantly approaches it, and based off of his expression, he doesn't appear to share the same excitement for the object as the others do. Barbara has taken a few photos of the small group gathered around the plush. 

"Why is his body… a different shape?" Tim asks, struggling in between his laughter. 

"He was marketed as 'Rotund Hood.' He just comes like that." You shrug, moving over to get a closer look at their reactions. "I've been calling him 'Fatson Todd,' though." 

Duke doesn't bother to hide his snicker at your nickname for the plush, and Jason finally speaks up. "You gave the fat plush version of me a name?"

"It's kinda cute though." Steph raises her phone up above the helmet of the plush to take a point five photo of him. 

"Fatson Todd." Jason repeats, appalled. "Fatson— Why would you buy this?" Grinning at your boyfriend, you take the plush away from Steph before settling it onto Jason's lap, "Is he weighted?" Jason furrows his eyebrows at the plush. "Of course he is." He mutters to himself, scoffing. 

You grin at him, "He's cute though. He's got a sort of charm to him."

Jason snaps his head to him, "It's a plush."

"Exactly!" You snap your fingers, pointing down to Fatson.

"How is he charming? I'm—" Jason rubs his temples, "You know what, I don't even care, anymore." He closes his eyes as he attempts to tune out the buzzing chatter around him.

"So we're keeping him?" You grab the plush from his lap.

He turns towards you, exasperated, "Somehow, I doubt you'll let me do anything else but keep him."

You grin at him, and that's all the answer he needs.

You're lucky he loves you.

: ̗̀➛ A/N: Chat how do we feel about the art and dividers. Every single divider and the Santa Fatson Todd was drawn by me lol. I've seen procreate longer than I've seen my family for the past couple days. I didn't actually plan on making a sequel to The Gift of Truth, but a few of you asked about Fatson Todd, and I am very easy to persuade. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this small little fic. As always, let me know about any mistakes. Happy New Year everyone! <3

About half a year ago you had begun dating your boyfriend, Jason Todd. In your defense, you didn’t even think about that Jason Todd. While you knew some details about the Waynes, you didn't follow everything they did, and especially not back then. You were worlds apart. After all, who would assume that their boyfriend was the dead son of Bruce Wayne?

The idea had crossed your mind, but you didn’t give it any credibility. Many people have shared names and aren't related. In fact you had silently laughed at the coincidence. Oooh, what if your boyfriend was secretly hiding from the public because he was previously declared dead and can’t come back without making a fuss. Yeah, likely story.

Needless to say, it became a lot less funny when you started to actually figure out what was afoot. 

—

You stared at Jason’s phone, the caller was just labeled “B” with no other explanation. Jason had been looking for his phone after misplacing it, and you had found it on top of your shared dresser.

“Uhh, somebody is calling you.” You carefully grabbed the device, careful not to answer it. 

Jason’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the bedroom, the hollow floorboards echoing beneath his feet. “Who is it?” He asked casually, holding his hand out.

You shrugged, “I dunno, you just have then labeled ‘B.’” You placed the phone in his hand, and he froze. Immediately, he looked from the phone up to you.

“Did they say anything else? Texts?” He attempted to shield the phone from your view. A surge of curiosity washed over you, interested to know who he was talking to.

“Not that I saw? All I saw was the call.” You paused as the phone stopped ringing… before picking up again mere seconds later. “Anybody important? Boss or something?”

In hindsight, that was the funniest response you could’ve given. At the time you didn’t actually know what Jason did for work. When you asked, he’d just shrug, offhandedly respond “Security,” then quickly change the subject. Eventually, you let it go, realizing he was never going to go in depth about it with you. Which was understandable. Perhaps he wanted to separate his home life and work life.

However as time went on, you began to have more questions. His schedule was just too inconsistent.

There were days where he would just brush off his job, “I’m not the only one who works there, they can handle a night without me.” He would tell you. There were even times where he’d leave in the morning with no warning, just a couple messages on your phone telling you that "work called."

So you came to the conclusion: he must’ve been his own boss. 

It made sense, he seems to get paid relatively well. His work schedule is evidently flexible. It’s a logical conclusion for a person to reach. After devising your theory, you didn’t think much of it, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Well, you didn't think much of it… until a week later.

“Please, just cover for me this once. I’ll make it up to you.” You pause at the doorframe, breath hitching as you lean against the wall. You had woken up and noticed that Jason was not with you in bed. It’s not uncommon for him to leave in the middle of the night, but usually he left a note, message, just something to let you know that he would return. This time he didn’t, so you went to go look for him.

“I know…” Jason continued, a long moment of silence in between his answers. “Yes, I know, but please? I promised her that she’d have me this entire weekend.”

Your finger tapped absentmindedly against the wooden doorframe, and your other hand rubbed your eye, attempting to expel the sleepiness from your body. Okay, so he’s talking to somebody— definitely work related— about taking time off for you. Were you wrong about him being his own boss?

“I don’t care what Bruce thinks of it.” He scoffed, and you could imagine him rolling his eyes too. At his words, you lean closer to the living room entrance, all whilst ensuring you stayed hidden from his view. “He can think whatever he wants.” He paused before continuing, his tone more unsure than the fiery scorn he spoke with seconds ago. “You haven’t told the others, right?” His words were soft, hesitant. He sounded winded, as if merely speaking the words left him drained.

There was a long pause, and you held your breath in anticipation.

Jason sighed, and it’s somehow quieter than his previous words. “Thank you…” You could hear the cushions of the couch squeak slightly as Jason sat down. His words sounded dry, but you could hear the sincerity backing them. “Yeah, I know… I’ll…” He paused, a soft huff escaping him, “I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before the New Year.”

You sharply inhaled, immediately scurrying back to bed and throwing the blankets over yourself haphazardly. You compelled your breathing to slow, attempting to feign unconsciousness. It doesn’t work, but Jason wasn’t finished with his phone call; you can distantly hear his voice still on the phone if you strain your ears. You know you have at least a minute to get your act together before he returns. You force your eyes shut, and attempt to sleep.

Except, obviously, that does not work. All you could think about was the implications of what you just heard.

Everything you thought was wrong.

At first you were merely cataloging any important information he might’ve revealed: names, locations, anything that could clue you into what was going on. However, as you started listening, you came to a realization. 

This isn’t him talking about his shifts.

“You haven’t told the others, right?”

This isn’t about work at all.

“I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before Christmas.”

This was about his family.

Now, you may have just woken up at two in the morning and eavesdropped on a conversation that you had no context of, but the message was abundantly clear. He’s planning to introduce you to his family. If the distress he displayed at the notion told you anything, it must be something he’s thought about for a while.

You didn’t know much about his family, he was always super vague about them. However he did tell you about his numerous siblings, and that he— along with the majority of them— are adopted. 

At the time, your relationship was still new, and you didn’t want to pry into territory he was clearly uncomfortable with. You had expressed interest in meeting them, but assured him that if that’s something that makes him uncomfortable, then it can wait.

Now, usually you wouldn’t think too much about him being adopted, but there was one other thing that set off an immediate alarm in your head. The one name he mentioned, Bruce.

Now there’s probably millions of Bruce’s in America alone, but everybody in Gotham will immediately think of one man.

Bruce Wayne.

With literally any other person you know, you’d assume that they would be talking about a different Bruce. However, this was Jason. Jason took a while to share his last name with you, and you didn’t blame him. After all, when you found out his full name you had gone to search it up on your own soon after. You wanted to see if he has any social media posts, determine what kind of person he is online. Only, you didn’t find social media accounts.

You found articles.

Articles and articles filled talking about the death of “Jason Todd.” How he had died during a terrorist attack in Ethiopia in search of his mother. That Jason Todd had been adopted by— you guessed it— none other than Bruce Wayne.

Now, you were willing to chalk it up to an odd coincidence, after all that Jason Todd was dead. There was no way you were dating a dead guy when there are full on autopsies published detailing the horrific death of this child. It was an unfortunate coincidence. It makes sense why Jason wouldn’t want to share his last name if everyone immediately thought of a dead kid.

Now? You aren’t sure anymore. What are the chances that this “Bruce” is actually Bruce Wayne and Jason, your Jason, is actually the (previously?) dead Jason Todd.

With all that being said, you’ll be the first to say that you are no detective. Batman certainly won’t be finding competition with you…

However, this might be worth investigating. 

At the time, you didn’t even think to truly consider the consequences if Jason found out about your snooping. However, in your defense, it was less of an “investigation” and more “attempting to notice details that may or may not prove that your insane theory is correct.”

You didn’t actively search the house for evidence that your Jason Todd was the Jason Todd (but really how many Jason Todd’s exist in Gotham, and are adopted, and know a Bruce?). However, to your surprise, you didn’t need to.

—

Narrowing your eyes, you widen your stride to evade the puddle of a mysterious viscous liquid on the ground, almost oil-like in nature. Your nose scrunches up at the smell, and you avoid making eye contact with anybody. Walking with purpose, you speed up your pace to avoid any confrontations. 

You didn’t want to go through Crime Alley.

Jason had told you stories. He had made it clear that if you ever had reason to go there, you’d tell him, and he’d handle it. You weren’t about to argue since you never had a desire to go there.

You straighten your posture, walking with a confidence that you feel you currently lack. God, you absolutely hate the taxis in this city. All you asked was that he’d turn on the heater and close his window— it’s winter! 

The driver absolutely lost it. 

You had asked that he just stop right where you were, in the Upper East Side, but he didn’t. Instead, he drove north. It was only once you passed the Monarch Theater when you realized how screwed you were. The driver had yelled at you, threatening your life if you didn’t get out of the car.

So you got out of the car. Clutching your jacket and purse close to your chest as it speeds off, leaving you stranded in Crime Alley. 

Stranded and terrified, you tried retracing the path the car had taken, attempting to leave. However, every alley, street, and crevice looked sketchy. While you had lived in Gotham for a long time, you’ve always avoided this part of town. So like it or not— the territory was unfamiliar, something that isn’t working in your favor.

Eventually, you find a small abandoned alleyway. While it was dirty and practically screaming “DANGER!” you noticed that it was completely abandoned. Ducking into the alleyway, you pull out your phone. Dead. What are the chances? Groaning, you lean against the graffitied wall, rubbing your temples.

Then you hear it. Footsteps. Slow, unhurried, sounds like heavy footwear.

Tensing up, you find an empty dumpster, using it as cover from the new figure. Fuck. You should’ve just kept moving. Now you’re just a sitting duck.

“You know I can still see you, right?” A heavily modulated male voice calls out, his voice echoes across the narrow backstreet. You press yourself further against the wall, knowing that it’s futile, but still desperately trying to stay hidden. You clutch your purse close to your chest. If you get out of here unscathed, Jason is going to kill you.

The newcomer is definitely not small. You aren’t able to see him, but just based off of his footsteps, you reckon that definitely somebody who could beat the shit out of you. 

The footsteps get closer and closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Then, the sun vanishes. You look up to the looming figure above you. Red Hood.

It seems you both startle each other because both of you immediately jump back once you meet each other's eyes. 

“What—” He calls out.

You hold your hands up in surrender. This guy only kills criminals, right? “I didn’t steal anything, I swear.”

It seems Red Hood is just as stunned by your presence as you are. He remains frozen, continuing to look down at you on the ground. You get up very slowly, making no sudden movements. The last thing you want is for him to think you have a gun.

“I…” His voice is quieter… Something about it is familiar. The tone. “I never said you did.”

You nod, slowly adjusting your clothes, “I didn’t kill anybody either…”

He nods slowly, “I would never assume you did.” He speaks slowly.

You blink taken aback. “Killers come in all shapes and sizes. Not saying I would— I would not. I’m just clearing my name.”

He releases a small huff of laughter, “…Fair enough.”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you avert your gaze. You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. He is still looking at you.

“Do you—”

“How did—”

You both pause. Clearing your throat, you gesture at him, “You first.” 

He shakes his head, “No, go ahead.” He mirrors your gesture, and you have to hold back a laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.

You pause before continuing, “Do you know how to get out of here? My phone's dead,” you hold up the device to show him, “I can’t really look up directions.”

Red Hood stares at you for a long moment, you’re curious what he’s thinking. “Of course.” He responds a lot softer than you thought he would. “I’ll guide you.” 

You open your mouth to decline, but your brain tells you to accept the offer. Normally, you wouldn’t accept strange offers from men in Crime Alley.

However, it’s Red Hood.

While he’s technically a strange man from Crime Alley, Gotham’s vigilantes typically don’t harm innocents. So, against everything you’ve been taught since you were a child, you accept his offer. It seems that he is relieved at your acceptance, nodding before moving to your left. You blink at him as he holds his hand out expectantly.

“What?” You ask, looking from his hand, up to his mask, and back down to his gloved palm.

“I’ll hold your purse for you.” He says stoically.

You should get an Oscar for the poker face you gave him. Red Hood— feared vigilante— carrier of purses. 

“Uh, it’s fine… I can carry it.” You purse your lips in order to refrain from laughing in his face. You don’t want to laugh at him for being kind. You’re reminded of the times where you asked Jason to hold your purse for you. Red Hood offers his services in a way that makes you wonder if he does this often.

The eyes of his helmet stare into your soul, “That’s your bad shoulder.” 

Your smile falls, slowly turning to face him. “What?”

“You’re going to injure your shoulder.” He corrects.

You pause, feeling suspicion rise in your chest. That is not what he said the first time. He was telling you that your shoulder was injured. You had slept on it strangely all week, and you had complained to Jason about it. How could Red Hood know that?

A rush of adrenaline shoots through your system as you connect the dots of the situation. The tone of his voice. The casualness of how he offered his help to you. The shoulder comment. The odd work shifts…

You smile politely at Jason, “I suppose you make a good point.” You give him your purse.

—

Figuring it out hadn’t been the difficult part. Jason had been practically begging you to put the evidence together. Just by knowing his identity, you were able to piece the rest of the puzzle together.

His family? His work? The Bats? The Waynes? All of them were one in the same. 

Now, while you figured it out, you still wanted him to tell you on his own. Perhaps you’d act a little surprised, and tease him about finding each other in Crime Alley. Then in a few years you’d tell him you figured him way before he told you.

Then one day, a week before Christmas, he asked you a question.

“Do you want to meet my family?”

You blink, looking away from the ads playing on the TV, “What?”

He shifts, tugging slightly at your shared penguin blanket. “They’re hosting dinner tonight.” He looks at you, “They’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

You nod in acknowledgment, “Do you want me to meet them?” It’s happening. This is what he was talking about on the phone.

Jason is silent for a moment, “I can’t hide you forever.”

You snort, “That’s not what I asked.” You reach for his hand, it’s warm.

He looks from your hand up to you, “Yeah,” he exhales, like it takes effort to admit.

You smile, “Then we’ll be there tonight.” You raise your hand to rub his shoulder. Normally, you’d be panicking over what to wear, especially to meet the Waynes, but you had already planned for this two weeks ago.

Jason’s anxiousness is evident throughout the day. You reassure him that you won’t be scared off. He laughs like he doesn’t believe you. Each time he brushes your reassurances off, you find yourself smiling. He doesn’t know that you know.

Tonight comes sooner than expected. You do your makeup nicely, taking your time with the familiar routine. Satisfied with your appearance, you meet Jason out in the living room. He’s glaring down at his phone. 

“What’d it do to you?” You smirk, eying the object. 

He turns it off, “Everything, and not enough.” He sighs, avoiding eye contact with you. “Hey, I should tell you about them…”

You blink, “You already gave me the rundown?”

“Yes— Well,” he releases a breathy chuckle, “a different rundown.” Sensing the seriousness of the situation, you drop your smile, nodding.

“Remember how I waited a long time to tell you my name— my full name?” He swallows, gauging your reaction. “You know the kid who has the same name as me?”

You nod slowly, “The one Bruce Wayne took in.” You feel your heart speed up, he’s really telling you. 

“Yeah,” he huffs, “I know… I know it sounds crazy, and there are like dozens of articles saying that kid died…” He inhales, “But those rumors were exaggerated, and I don’t think it’s fair to drag you into this without telling you— Why… are you smiling?”

You chuckle softly, grabbing his hand. Before you even think about the consequences of revealing part of your knowledge, you begin speaking, “Jay, I’ve known that for a while.”

His hand stiffens in yours, “What?”

“I mean… You told me your name was Jason Todd.”

He furrows his eyebrows, “Both are common names.”

“Give me more credit than that.” You roll your eyes, the smile on your face growing. “It was hard not to notice after a certain point.”

Jason gapes at you, and you laugh at his shocked expression. Then he laughs softly, “This was supposed to be a big moment.” He sighs, “You aren’t… mad?”

“It is. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.” You lean to kiss him on his cheek, he relaxes under your touch. His shoulders droop as your hands reach to fix a few stray strands of hair. “I could never be mad. I understand that this is a big deal, and that trust isn't easy to come by.”

He returns the kiss, light, smiling through it. “God, I don’t deserve you. I was planning that speech for weeks, you know.”

You laugh at him, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. “It was a very good speech.”

“Yeah?” He smirks at you.

“Yeah.” You reaffirm, grinning at him.

—

“Thank God you are here.” A young man— Duke, you recognize— throws the doors to the manor open before the doorbell is even rung. You don’t mask your surprise as he gestures for you two to get inside. “They’ve started making bets.” 

Jason raises an eyebrow, “And you’re thankful for us being here why?”

“‘Cause I bet you’d show up with her!” He gestures between you two, before politely smiling at you. “Nice to meet you by the way, Duke Thomas.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself as you remove your jacket. “Jason told me quite a bit about you guys.”

Duke laughs awkwardly before eying Jason, “Hopefully not too much.” He smiles.

You smirk, pretending you don’t understand the underlying message, “He said you were particularly tolerable.”

Duke shakes his head, a smile on his face, “The greatest of compliments.” He leads the two of you into the massive living room, probably one of many seeing as this manor is huge.

At your entrance, the room goes silent. 

You scan the room, attempting to put names to the faces. Sitting on the maroon velvet couch you see Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon. Standing behind them is Stephanie Brown with Damian Wayne and Cassandra Cain on her sides. Tim Drake is settled casually on the armrest of the couch. 

The table in front of them is littered with pieces of paper, empty energy drinks, a couple Batman mugs filled hot cocoa, and a black top hat. You turn your attention to Bruce Wayne, seated in a singular armchair with a poised elegance only somebody raised with wealth could have. At his right, is an older gentleman— Alfred, Jason told you.

Each person in the room is staring directly at you with varying degrees of surprise. Stephanie and Dick look thrilled at your appearance. The former looks ready to hug you, and you have a feeling that they bet money that you’d show up. Tim looks at you incredulously, staring at you as if you’ll disappear at any moment. Damian looks you up and down with a touch of distaste, as if assessing your value. You feel yourself straighten your stance under his examination. Cassandra Cain similarly appraises you, but you feel as if her judgment is less harsh. Barbara looks amused at your arrival, casually sipping one of the mugs on the table.

What truly unsettles you is Bruce Wayne.

You’ve heard stories of Brucie Wayne, how could you not? Those stories portray him as a ditzy billionaire playboy. Well-meaning, but frivolous. The eyes that stare into you aren’t the eyes of such a character. His gaze pierces into your own, and you find yourself faltering as you attempt to match the intensity. This isn’t some foolish playboy.

This is Batman.

Who knows what he’d do if he figures out you know about their secret? Jason, as if sensing your distress, situates himself at your side. He clears his throat, “This is my girlfriend,” he introduces you, offering your name to them.

The silence is palpable, an uneasy fog that rests in the atmosphere of the room. In spite of that, you offer them your best smile. “I know who you all are.” You nod to each person in the room. “Jason has told me about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Jason places a hand onto your shoulder, squeezing lightly.

For a moment, nobody says anything. Your eyes flicker between everyone, gauging their reactions. You take a gamble with your next comment, “I’m sorry for any cash lost at my appearance.” You smile softly, turning towards Tim and Damian. The two are staring at you as if you've personally wronged them.

Dick follows your lead, standing up from the couch to greet you. He mirrors your smile back at you as you shake hands, “I’m definitely not sorry. They could stand to get humbled every now and then.” He gestures his thumb back towards the couch.

You smirk, “Well, I’m glad to be of service then.” You release his hand, turning to Stephanie who approached you as you were greeting Dick.

“I’ve never been so happy to prove them wrong. Thank you for existing.” She shakes your hand gravely. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes your mouth, “Of course, I will make sure I continue to do so.” She smiles at you, pulling you over to the couch to meet everyone. The tension dissipates as you begin to meet everyone. She brings you to meet Bruce first, after all it is his house.

You give his hand a firm shake, a small smile on your face masking your inner trepidation. He doesn’t offer much more than a polite smile and obligatory nicety, but Steph— she insisted you call her that name instead— reassures you that he’s just like that. She also introduces you to Alfred, who you match the politeness of. It seems that he approves of you. Soon after, she drags you over to the couch where the rest of the group resided.

“Does she know?”

Jason stares at you, laughing at something Cass says. Animatedly, you gesture as you speak, telling some story to the small group gathered near you. Steph laughs in response, grabbing Cass’ arm for support. 

“Know what?” He asks. He doesn’t tear his gaze from you as you explain your story. For a brief moment the two of you make eye contact, and your eyes glint mischievously. You lean closer to his siblings positioned near you, whispering something to them. Jason can’t hear what you say, but whatever it is causes Tim to immediately perk up curiously. Steph matches your smirk, and even Cass and Damian lean closer to hear your words. Faintly, Jason can hear your soft whispers to them. In the middle of your storytelling, you look up at him. Your smile grows as you wink at him, he can’t help mirroring your expression.

Dick snorts, “So that’s a no.”

The smile falls from his face, Jason eyes Dick from the corner of his eye, “It’s harder than you think.” He swallows, watching as Steph covers her mouth at something you say. “Too much will change if I tell her.” He responds quietly.

Dick hums, crossing his arms, “Are you serious about her?”

Jason, affronted, spins to face Dick. “Yes.” He exhales slowly, nodding somberly.

Dick smiles gently, “Then tell her.”

Jason scoffs, “It’s not that easy.” His eyes veer to Bruce, who is pretending he is not listening to you from his chair. 

Dick follows his gaze, “Since when did you care what he thinks?” He grins at Jason, glancing between him and Bruce.

Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, “I don’t. I just…” He huffs, his mouth set in a straight line. “I don’t want her getting involved.”

Dick’s gaze softens, a forlorn frown on his face. “It’s inevitable given what we do.”

Jason grunts, “I’m aware.”

Dick tentatively raises a hand, placing it on his shoulder. “I don’t say this to pressure you—”

“—Sure feels like it.” Jason interrupts, glaring down at Dick.

“But,” Dick continues as if interrupted, “I think you’ll find it to be a lot easier for you both if you do tell her.” They both look over to you. Jason watches as you raptly listen to something Tim explains. Jason sighs, shrugging Dick’s hand off his shoulder.

“Hm,” Jason hums, acknowledging his words, but not saying anything more.

“Okay, now that we’re all here.” Steph raises the top hat from the table, catching everybody’s attention. “It is time.”

Steph holds the top hat reverently, as if the object is sacred. “Secret Santa this year. Twenty dollar minimum. We will write our names down on these sheets of paper and draw them out from the hat. If you don’t like who you get, too bad. You can only redraw if you get yourself. Now, everybody fill these out, place your slip of paper into the hat, and we will begin to draw.”

“She seems really serious about this.” You whisper to Duke. He thanks Steph as she passes around a pack of purple sticky notes for everybody to take. 

“You get used to it.” Duke takes a slip, handing you the pack. Slowly you take the purple note before passing it over to Cassandra on your right. Grabbing a pen, you scrawl your name down on the piece of paper. You feel your chest constrict with an uneasy weight. 

Jason may have told you about his family, but you barely know anything about them. Favorite color? Food? Animal? He didn’t exactly divulge the details. You’ll probably have to ask his help on what to get, cause you’re essentially going in blind. He didn't warn you about Secret Santa.

You fold the sticky note, slipping it into the hat. You watch as the pen makes its way around the table, your foot bouncing as it finally approaches Bruce and Alfred. You watch as they silently write their name down, resigned. You have a feeling that they’ve been forced to do this for years.

As they place their names into the top hat, you consider the options of who you could get. A silent smile grows on your face as you think about it. Wouldn’t it be funny if you got Jason? 

“Alright, I think that’s everybody.” Steph looks around the room. “Now to begin the drawing…” She lightly tosses the hat, jumbling the papers in it before turning to face you, smiling. “As the newest person here, you should go first.” She holds out the hat to you, and you are immediately aware of the eyes on you.

“Oh,” you look down at the folded papers, then back up at her, “sure…” You attempt to match her smile, slowly reaching in the hat without looking. You pick up one of the slips, taking it out. Everybody watches in anticipation as you unfold the sticky note, you attempt to school your face as you read the painfully familiar handwriting.

Jason

Holy shit.

You’ve used up all of your luck for the next five years. What are the chances you’d pull your boyfriend in a group this large? You were already planning on getting him gifts separately, but this was too perfect. 

A stupid idea ran through your head. A really stupid, idiotic, foolish idea. Was it worth risking everything you’ve done not to incriminate yourself for this scheme?

You don’t even register the other people in the room drawing out names. You don’t even wonder who got you because all you can think of is the possibilities of what you could get Jason.

“Who’d you get?” The soft warmth of Jason’s breath brushes past your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He is resting his body against the back of the couch, leaning over it to invade your personal space. You attempt to hide your jolt by casually folding your paper, holding it out of his view.

“It hasn’t even been five minutes.” You smirk at him, pocketing the slip for later. You lower your voice, leaning closer to him. “Does this mean we’re returning for Christmas?” You can’t keep the excitement out of your voice.

He sighs, “I suppose.” He smiles at the way your eyes brighten up. If only he knew what fire he was fueling. “Now, who’d you get?” He asks, leaning to look over your shoulder. You shift so that your back is never facing him, placing a hand over your pockets to make sure he can’t grab the sticky note.

“I can’t tell you, it’s Secret Santa.” You furrow your eyebrows, frowning.

His eyes widen slightly, “Wait… You’re actually not gonna tell me? C’mon,” He huffs, leaning even closer, the two of you are practically face to face now. “I can keep a secret if it matters that much to you.”

You turn away from him, the smugness in your eyes never fading. “You’ll find out when we give the gifts.” You shrug, and you can feel eyes watching you both. Damian looks mildly disgusted by you two, and Duke is noticeably trying to avoid looking at you both. You clear your throat, looking up at Jason.

“Guess you’re gonna have to find out like everyone else.” You look away from him, propping your arm onto the armrest of the couch and leaning your face onto it.

Jason stares at you— you can feel it piercing the back of your skull. “You’ll need my help.” 

You tilt your head to face him, “I actually have an idea what I’ll get my person.”

He narrows his eyes at you skeptically, “You… do?”

You smirk, “The perfect idea.”

“You know it’s not just joke gifts, it’s stuff they actually like, right?” He straightens up, crossing his arms as he looks down at you on the couch.

“Oh,” you bite your tongue to keep from smiling too wide, “they’ll like the gift.”

You both stare at each other for a long moment, he sighs. “Alright, if you say so.” He taps his arm thoughtfully. “If you need any help though…” He trails off.

“You’ll be the first person I call.” You nod, smiling. “You’ll always be the first person I call.”

His eyes soften, “I know.”

—

red hood merch

red hood keychain

red hood figure

You idly tap your finger on the keyboard of your laptop as you open up different tabs for each search. Surprisingly, there were actually quite a few results for Red Hood merch. You know he isn’t as popular as Batman or even Nightwing, but you are nothing if not determined.

You cycle through different websites, eventually landing onto Etsy. You snort as you see holographic stickers of Red Hood. You even find replicas of his helmet for sale. You smile, adding the latter to the cart. Continuing to scroll, you barely even notice the door to your apartment open. You chuckle as you see a cute Red Hood keychain. He’d hate this. 

You add it to the cart.

“You’re still up?” 

Freezing, you slowly shift your gaze from the screen to Jason. His hair is tousled, his skin has the sheen of sweat to it that tells you he was "exercising" (that's the excuse he always tells you, you know he's out patrolling). He tosses his jacket over a chair, running a hand through his hair. You subtly switch tabs, “Wanted to wait for you.” You half-lid the laptop.

He smiles, before moving to face plant onto your shared bed. You look down at him, frowning. “Have you taken a shower?”

“Nah,” his voice is muffled by the blankets.

You subtly nudge him with your knee, “I love you, but you’re sweaty. The bed is clean.” He groans, not budging at your gesture.

“Mmph,” he grunts, moving closer to you, crawling up the bed to where you’re seated underneath the covers. You yelp, moving away from him, slamming the laptop shut. Damn it, you wanted to order it before he came home. “I can’t spend time with my girlfriend?”

You snort, “You can spend time with me after you take a shower.” You lightly push his forehead, your hand brushing against his loose strands of hair. He leans into your touch, “Rough day?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He mumbles, slowly pulling away to stand up again. 

You exhale, smiling softly. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after a shower.”

He snorts, “You’re just telling me I stink.”

You smirk, “Your words, not mine.”

He sighs, dragging himself to the bathroom. You can’t help the smile on your face. Once he is out of view, you slowly open your laptop again, navigating your browser back to your shopping cart. You go to the checkout, quickly paying. It’ll arrive a few days before Christmas. 

You thought you'd stop there, but you end up going down a rabbit hole. Scrolling and scrolling endlessly.

Then you find it. It’s a collection of bootleg Red Hood merch— a package. You start cackling to yourself as you view the picture of the product. It’s a hoodie, blanket, water bottle, mug, wallet, and journal. The hoodie, water bottle, wallet, and journal have the red bat logo plastered on them. The blanket and mug have an actual photo of Red Hood on them. The quality of the image isn’t terrible, but it looks ridiculous nonetheless. Now, this would be a really stupid purchase. You’d be spending more money than you already have on merch.

You hum to yourself in contemplation, distantly noting that you can hear the water running from the bathroom. You tap your foot softly against the mattress of the bed, squinting at it. For a bundle with that many items, twenty dollars is not a bad deal, even if the images are laughable. You raise your hand up to your lip, rubbing your face. 

Well, even if Jason hates it… You can still find some use out of the items. The blanket maybe? You doubt it’ll be a great blanket, but it could be a good backup. The mug and water bottle might also be usable. One of you can definitely use the journal… After all, twenty dollars is twenty dollars.

You buy it.

“You’re still working?” Jason emerges from the bathroom, changed into clean clothes, lightly rubbing a towel over his head. 

Your eyes fall onto the receipt screen reading: “Order confirmed!” You nod, “Something like that.”

He gives you a puzzled expression, before plopping onto his side of the bed. The mattress cushioning his fall. “Are you almost done?” He lays down flat, tilting his head to look at you.

You smile, shutting the laptop. Mission accomplished. “Just finished actually.”

—

Neither of you mentioned Secret Santa. Honestly, you started to worry if he’d actually get a gift for his person. However, you didn’t bring it up out of fear of him asking about the gifts for your person. The remainder of the week progressed, the excitement of Christmas becoming more and more real each day. Either way, things are going smoothly. Each day you have to withhold yourself from telling Jason what you bought because you are dying to see his reaction. You hold yourself back, though. It’ll be so much better in front of his family. 

It’s a few days before Christmas where panic struck your heart.

“Did you order something?” Jason asks, you hold your phone up to your ear as you walk to your car. You just got off of work, and were finally off for the holidays. 

You swallow, “Perhaps, why?”

Jason hums, “Well, it’s here.” You feel your heart skip a beat for all the wrong reasons, “Do you want me to open—”

“No!” You cut him off, causing him to pause. You purse your lips, wincing, “Uh, no. It’s fine. It’s… personal.”

There’s a long pause of silence, “Personal…” He repeats, unconvinced.

“Yeah,” you nod, smacking your lips, “reallyyyy personal. I wouldn’t open it.”

He releases a huff of amusement, “Alright… You’re coming home right?”

“Yep, yep, on my way.” You walk faster down the sidewalk.

“Alright, don’t take too long.” He responds casually.

“Or what?” You smirk, using your shoulder to hold your phone up to your ear as you fish for your keys in your purse.

“Or I’ll open it.” He responds, matching the mirth in your tone.

You never drove home so fast.

Upon entering, you don’t even call out a greeting. Keys jingling, you frantically unlock the door. You twist the doorknob, pushing the door open with more force than necessary, causing you to stumble through the doorway. 

You rip your shoes off your feet, throwing them haphazardly to the side as you toss your purse onto the couch. “Jason!” You call out. He’s likely in your bedroom. “Where is the package?” You speed over to your bedroom, yanking the door open.

Jason is laying down on his side, facing the door. His phone is held languidly in one of his hands. At your arrival, he doesn’t even flinch. “Hm?” He hums, still looking at the phone.

Your eyes narrow, “The package, Jay. Where is it?” You check behind the door as you begin your search— even checking under the bed.

“Oh, it’s over there.” He gestures absentmindedly to the top of your dresser. You blink, seeing the giant box there. How did you miss that?

“Oh,” you slowly reach from the box, checking to see if it was opened. “You didn’t open it right?” You turn back to face him; he still hasn’t moved. 

Finally, he tilts his head to face you. “No?” He pauses, mischief crawling into his tone. “Should I have?” He sits up, putting the phone down and turning his entire body to face you.

“No.” You hold the box closer to you, glaring at him. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not peeking.”

He smirks, “Oh…” In a much softer tone he continues  “… Is it for me?”

You grin, “Perhaps.” 

He smiles at you, tension leaving his body. His eyes crinkle in fondness as he stares at you, not moving from his spot in the bed. He chuckles quietly, grinning even wider.

You blink, his genuine joy is contagious, “What?” You chuckle.

“Nothing.” He is still smiling as he turns around in bed. You can tell he is still smiling even if he isn’t facing you.

You snort, “Alright, sure.” You nod at his head, exiting the room, his eyes trailing on the box as your arms as you leave.

It’s your first Christmas together with him, so you can imagine that he is curious to know what you’ve got for him. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing. He looked so happy to be receiving a gift from you.

Could this potentially backfire on you? Absolutely. You’d be a fool not to consider the consequences of essentially telling your vigilante boyfriend in front of his vigilante family that you’re aware of their identities. However, you can’t imagine that it’ll be that bad. It’s not like you disapprove of them, you just… want to have a little fun with it.

You had waited for a months for Jason to say something. After all, you wanted him to tell you out of his own accord— you still do. However, you've gotten antsy waiting around. Not that it's an excuse, but the added anxiety into your life hasn't exactly been a joy. Does he not trust you enough? Either way, you can’t bring yourself to be mad; it’s not exactly a tiny secret. Every time he pulled you aside, you wondered if this was it. It never was.

Perhaps he was too scared to tell you? 

It was a perspective you hadn’t really thought of. You’d been so focused on the excitement of getting the gifts and just waiting for him to say something, that you didn’t even consider that it could be equally as anxiety inducing for him. 

You open a drawer in the kitchen, grabbing the box cutter. You make sure Jason hasn’t decided to follow you out before you start to open it. The sounds of the tape being ripped apart echo across your otherwise silent apartment.

Grinning, you reach into the box, gently pulling out the Red Hood helmet replica that laid inside. Despite your worries, you can’t help the thrill of excitement that runs through your body.

—

“Jesus, did you get enough gifts for your person?” Jason furrows his eyebrows at you as you carry two large wrapped gifts in your arms. He watches as you wiggle your way into the passenger seat of his car. “You know it was only required to get one, right?” He stares at the gifts, specifically the wrapping paper. You had deliberately made sure he never saw them until absolutely necessary.

A couple days after you bought the gifts, you had stumbled onto a shop that was selling Batman themed wrapping paper.

So, like any good vigilante girlfriend would do, you picked up a few rolls. 

You practically locked yourself into another room in your apartment to wrap them in fear that Jason would see, but it was worth it. The way he is staring at the gifts as if they slapped him in the face? Priceless.

You click your tongue, “Give me a break, I wanted to be nice. It’s my first time celebrating Christmas with your family anyway.” You reach over the center console, placing the gifts gently in the backseat.

He huffs, “It’s a bit excessive.” 

You dramatically raise a hand to your chest, affronted. “You’re just jealous I didn’t get you.” You blatantly lie with such a confidence that even you begin to question if you got Jason (you’ve checked that paper dozens of times).

He raises an eyebrow, “If that’s what you want to believe.” He shrugs.

You purse your lips into a thin line, shaking your head at him. “I know it. Now, let’s go, we’re gonna be late.” You buckle in, shutting the door. Jason rolls his eyes, and you nudge him with your elbow. He starts the car, and you pull down the sun visor mirror. As he starts the car, you double check your makeup.

“You still aren’t gonna tell me who you got?” Jason asks.

You turn to face him, “You’ve lasted this long, you’ll find out in like an hour anyway.” Flipping the sun visor back up, you relax against the back of the seat. A smile grows on your face, he even turned on the seat heating for you. “For someone so eager for me to share, you haven’t said anything.”

“I asked you first.” He furrows his eyebrows, frowning.

“That’s fine,” you recline the seat slightly, your Christmas sweater absorbing the warmth of the seat. “Just don’t get upset at me if I don’t tell you who I got.”

He scoffs, “I’m not upset.” He slows to a stop as you reach an intersection, “Just curious.”

“Mhm,” you hum contently, turning to face Jason with a gleeful smile on your face. 

He spares you a quick glance before turning his focus back to the road, “What’s with that face?”

You raise an eyebrow, “That’s just my face? Am I not allowed to smile at my boyfriend?”

An small amused smile manifests onto his face, he gives you a fondly exasperated look. “I suppose you may.”

“You suppose?” You chuckle, leaning your head against the cool glass of your window. You tilt your head so that you can look at him, “What? Do I need your permission?”

He chuckles, “Is that not what you were asking?” 

“Obviously not.” You lightly tap him with your hand.

His lips twitch in amusement, “My mistake.” 

You laugh softly, turning your attention back to the road. Despite the teasing atmosphere, you can’t help but worry how this will go down. Did you get ahead of yourself? Was this a mistake? Perhaps you should’ve bought a backup gift just in case you chickened out.

Each second the car approaches the Manor causes your heart to speed up. By the time you’ve reached it, you’re fanning yourself with your hands to keep from sweating too much. Jason had noticed your distress halfway through the ride, silently turning off the seat warmer, but (thankfully) not saying anything. You presume that he believes that you’re afraid Christmas won’t go well. He's not exactly wrong.

As you carry your gifts up the stairs to the entrance, you shake the doubts away. Rolling your shoulders back, you exhale slowly. This will go well. You can’t imagine anything bad will happen over you giving Jason some bootleg merch of himself. You're stressing over nothing. This will be funny.

“There you are! We were about to call you.” Dick greets you both, moving aside to let you in. Just as you step through he lets out a muffled snicker, conspicuously looking at the wrapping paper you chose. Smiling, he turns to Jason who gives him a pointed look as if saying “Don’t even.”

“Sorry, we were running a bit late.” You smile at Dick, and he waves you off.

“No worries, they can wait five more minutes.” He gestures for you two to follow. Both of you follow him into the same room you were in last time. Everybody is dressed festively— though some look more merry than others. “Alright, you all ready to get started?”

There is a cacophony of mixed responses, but everybody settles into the same positions they were in last time. You have to wonder if this is normal. Did you somehow choose your permanent spot in this living room without even knowing? Nonetheless, you don’t mind.

Thankfully you aren’t first again. 

Contrary to your doubts earlier, you feel the anticipation plaster a smile on your face, something you attempt to keep hidden from the others. You had practiced this day. You may not be an actor, but you had already anticipated the reaction of his family. Your worry wasn’t that they’d find you suspicious. It's that they'd laugh.

You knew that the moment somebody started laughing, you’d be a goner. There’s no way you’d be able to look at Jason with a straight face if you heard somebody giggling in the corner of the room. If you were doing this, you were going to commit to the act. You’ll likely tell him after, but you couldn’t breakdown into laughter halfway through the bit.

You had to be strong.

When Damian calls your name, you feel yourself sit up in shock. Everybody watches in anticipation as he walks over to you, placing a small bag and a wrapped flat rectangular gift onto your lap. You thank him, a grin stretching onto your face. He nods resolutely, before moving back to his spot.

Deciding to open the small bag first, you pull out a small package of your favorite goodies— he was no doubt assisted by Jason, but they’re filled with every possible candy and chip you enjoy. You grin at Damian, offering your gratitude with a heartfelt thank you. 

Then you open the wrapped gift, and immediately gasp. 

It’s a canvas. You delicately rip off the last piece of wrapping paper obscuring the artwork, unveiling the piece. It’s a gorgeous realistic painting of your favorite animal in its natural environment. You’d think that the piece was made by a professional who's been in the field for decades, not a teenager. Not a single mistake is found. All the colors work harmoniously to create a gorgeous setting with your favorite animal being the focal point. 

“Damian…” You cover your mouth, turning to him. “I— This is phenomenal. You’re incredibly skilled, I can’t believe you made this for me.” You withhold tears as you speak. You didn’t think Damian liked you when you met him. He was quiet, and didn’t shy away from bluntness. After you met him, you told Jason about your worries. Jason reassured you that for Damian, that was normal, and not to worry about what he thinks.

Damian’s face is unreadable, but he stands up straighter. “I’m glad you find it satisfactory.” 

“Satisfactory? This is exceptional. I’m speechless.” You look back down at the painting, gently holding the canvas. “Thank you, Damian.” You give him the most grateful smile you can muster. You would go and hug him, but based on what you’ve observed, you doubt he’d appreciate the action. His nods, decidedly pleased at your reaction, but not saying anything else.

Then the weight of the situation finally hits you. It is time.

You stand up, feeling the irresistible urge to smile, and you allow yourself the pleasure of doing so. “The person I got…” you spin around the room, before landing on your boyfriend, “is Jason.” You grin at him, and his mouth parts in surprise. 

You delicately place the presents onto his lap, “Open this one first.” You point at the gift containing the package deal you bought.

He narrows his eyes at you, instantly suspicious, “Alright,” He waits until you’ve returned to your seat before slowly ripping the paper off, revealing an inconspicuous white box.

Slowly, as if afraid something would jump out at him, he pulls the top off and freezes. You see both his and Dick’s eyes widen as they look down at its contents. You can see Dick shut his eyes in order to steel his reaction. 

“You gotta show us what you got, it’s part of the rules.” Steph adds curiously. At the moment, the only people who can see the gift are Dick and Jason himself.

Staring through the box desolately, he slowly turns it around for you all to see. There’s a beat of silence before Steph starts cackling. From her left, Tim smacks her, but he uses his free hand to cover his face. You think you can actually see him turn red from masking his reaction.

“I noticed that you seemed to be a Red Hood fan.” You calmly comment. Your words seemingly spur the others to start laughing cause now Duke’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. 

“Oh, he’s a Red Hood fan alright!” Steph gives you a thumbs up with a blinding grin as if saying “You’ve done good!” 

“Wh- Where did you even get it from?” Duke struggles to get the words out, smiling at you as he asks his question.

“Etsy,” you shrug, “they have a surprising amount of merch there for Red Hood. It made my job easy.” You smile at them before turning to Jason to gauge his reaction. He is still staring at the box blankly. 

Slowly his eyes meet yours, “Is… Is this what all those deliveries were?” It is rare that you catch him off guard, and you can’t help but savor the moment, filing the image of his stunned expression into your brain.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You smile at him. 

He laughs, the sound less out of amusement and more out of distress. “That’s… Yeah, I mean…” he swallows, “It’s a surprise.”

“You should open the other one.” You lean back into the couch. 

Jason looks at the second gift with absolute horror in his expression. “Wait— Are all of the gifts Red Hood themed?”

You grin at him, not offering an answer. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he warily tears off the Batman wrapping paper. It’s another white box, and you can see the defeat in his eyes. You smile innocently at him, biting your lip so as to not laugh. You really hope somebody is recording his reaction.

He glares at Dick, who is curiously looking over his shoulder, before raising the box to his face to peek inside of it. Jason must immediately know what it is because he silently settles it to his side, covering his face with his hands. You almost feel bad.

Dick, eager to see what it is, takes the abandoned box and lifts the lid. He instantly breaks out into laughter as he looks down at the Red Hood helmet replica inside of it. He actually leans into the couch for support as he attempts to control his breathing.

The action garners even Damian’s curiosity. He silently leans over to the box, ignoring Jason’s crisis and Dick nearly hyperventilating on the couch. He raises the lid, and his eyes widen seeing the item inside. He looks up to you, and you smile at him. He narrows his eyes and the two of you silently stare at each other both coming to the same conclusion.

Yeah, you know.

Hesitantly, as if afraid of the uproar your gift would cause, Damian holds the helmet up. He holds it away from his face, almost as if it’s a bomb about to explode.

Everybody.

Loses.

Their.

Mind.

Steph and Tim are both immediately gone. They aren’t even attempting to mask their laughter. Duke is, similar to Dick, leaning against the couch’s armrest for support. Cass is covering her mouth, her eyes betraying her amusement. Barbara has fully taken off her glasses, covering her face with her hand as she quietly laughs into it.

Then you turn to Bruce.

The two of you make eye contact, and for a long moment you forget about the laughter that racks nearly every person in the room. You swallow, but don’t break eye contact. You knew it was a gamble, revealing that you are aware of Red Hood’s identity to Batman himself.

Neither of you blink as you pray that he concludes you have no ill intentions— after all you don’t.

A long pause ensues. You don’t shift your gaze from him— not even to look at Jason. You know that if you get Bruce on your side, then everything will be okay. Then, slowly, he nods at you. The action is minuscule, something you wouldn’t even see if you weren’t looking. His face does not even change, but you understand the weight the action carries. He understands, and he knows you aren’t a threat.

You smile at him, feeling the biggest wave of relief imaginable wash over you. You turn back to everybody else, feeling a renewed sense of joy.

“This… This is surprisingly accura- high quality!” Tim cuts himself off, clearing his throat as he corrects himself. Tim, Duke, Steph, Damian, and Dick are all gathered around the helmet, scrutinizing it. Cass has moved next to Barbara, and they are both whispering to one another. You can’t hear their words, but you are curious.

You get up, slowly making your way to Jason who looks absolutely distraught. You decide it’s your time to intervene. “…Don’t like the gift?”

Jason— as if your voice snaps him out of a trance— shifts his gaze to you blearily. At the disappointment in your tone, he frantically shakes his head, “No! It’s not that I don’t like them— I just—” He opens his mouth before closing it, struggling to find the words. “How… How’d you know I like Red Hood?”

You settle your hand onto his, gently rubbing your thumb over it. “Jay,” you begin softly, “I know.”

He sputters, looking down at the ground. His frustration is evident, as if the last piece of a puzzle doesn’t fit. “I’m aware you know I like him. I’m just confused how you figured it out. I don’t think I ever mentioned—” 

“Jason,” you cut him off, and his eyes dart to your hands clasped in his, “I know.”

His hand tenses under your grip, and he sharply inhales, chest shuddering. “What?” He looks at your reassuring smile, the first gift he opened, then to the helmet. You can see him slowly piece it together.

You know he is Red Hood. 

“You… You know.” He repeats, blinking at you as if you’ll suddenly vanish in between blinks. 

You nod, “I know.” You repeat.

He opens his mouth, exhaling as he attempts to form sentences. “How?” He asks softly, “How long?”

“Since you saved me in the alley.” You smile sheepishly at him.

His eyes widen, “Are you serious? That long?” He openly gapes at you, and you scoot closer to him. “Are you not mad at me or anything? Why haven’t you said something?”

You frown, “Why would I be mad at you?” You shake your head at him, as if the idea is absurd.

He looks at you like you’ve lost it, “I lied to you, for months.”

You nod, “True, but I understand why. If I was a crime fighting vigilante I wouldn’t go around telling every single person I know my identity.”

Jason shakes his head, “You’re not ‘every single person,’ though. You’re my girlfriend.”

Your shoulders relax, fondness melting your heart. “Jason, you don’t have to justify yourself. I am not mad at you for not telling me. It hasn’t even been a full year since we met. If anything, I’m just mad that you’ve probably been hiding injuries from me since the start.”

You must’ve hit the mark with that comment because Jason winces, muttering a soft apology. “I didn’t do this to make you think I’m mad at you. I did this because I thought you’d feel better knowing I’m not mad at you.” You look at his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Jason stares at you, mouth agape before pulling you closer. He gently cradles your face as his lips meet your own. Instinctively, you begin to kiss him back, placing a hand onto his shoulder as you close your eyes, savoring the moment. Slowly, he breaks the kiss, slowly pulling away. “You bought all of this,” he grabs the Red Hood PNG mug from behind him, holding it up to your chest, “just to show me you know?”

You smirk, your arms still rested around his shoulders, “Okay… Maybe I thought it was funny. You should’ve seen me laughing as I ordered everything.”

He huffs, but smiles at you nonetheless, “I’m sure you did, didn’t you?”

You laugh as you slowly pull away from him, “I think I found our new favorite mug.” You reach to grab it out of his hand. 

He laughs sharply, “‘Our?’”

You grin, “Are you kidding? I paid good money for this. You gotta use it.”

He shakes his head, “The helmet too?”

You snap your fingers, “Especially the helmet.” 

“Jason, you gotta add this to your collection.” Dick moves around the couch to place the helmet onto Jason’s lap.

“No need for that. She knows.” Jason deadpans, and Dick, Tim, Steph, and Duke turn to you wide-eyed.

“I also know that the rest of you are vigilantes.” You chime in helpfully, Jason nods unsurprised.

The four of them stare at you, but everybody else in the room is unsurprised. It seems that Cass and Barbara figured it out soon after Bruce and Damian did. 

“Wait, so you did all of this knowing we’d all panic?” Duke asks, pressing his palms together and pointing his hands at you.

You nod, “Yeah, pretty much. For the record, I won’t tell anybody your identities,” you nod to Bruce, “and your guys’ reaction was probably the second best gift I received all year.” You nod to Damian, after all, his gift deserved the top spot.

“Damn,” Dick whistles, “you didn’t know about this either?” He looks down at Jason on the couch.

“Nope.” Jason deadpans. Dick and Steph immediately start cackling, Tim and Duke quickly following suit. Both you and Jason watch with varying degrees of glee on your face. “I do not want to see this ever again.” Jason whispers to you, grabbing a small scrap of the Batman wrapping paper.

You chuckle, “Aw, I thought you’d like it? Is it not on theme?” You take the scrap from him, running your fingers over it.

He snorts, “No, I’m serious.” The amusement drops from his face, “Please get rid of it.”

Chuckling, you delicately place a kiss on Jason’s cheek, “Anything for you.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, a smile on your face. “Love you.” 

He huffs, but you can see the hint of a smile peek through his face, “Love you too.” 

-> Fatson Todd Bonus Fic

ㅤ

A/N: I'd like to imagine you give the wrapping paper to Dick or something, and it’s used by EVERYBODY in the manor for the next 3 years (basically until it runs out). Jason is not happy when you all return for Christmas next year and EVERY SINGLE GIFT is covered in that Batman wrapping paper lmao. Also guys, I’ve actually NEVER gotten second hand embarrassment from WRITING before (surprising, I know). During the scene where reader gives him the gift I had to cover my mouth with one hand as I continued to type. Jokes aside, merry Christmas/Christmas Eve/happy holidays to you all! I hope you enjoyed this silly fic :). As always feel free to let me know about any mistakes! Have a wonderful day <3!

Requests are still open (rules here) ! Feel free to send them in :)!

“If you could.” Buzz. “I'd appreciate it.” Buzz.

You grit your teeth, “Great.” Buzz.

You glare at your phone, hoping the intensity of your stare will compel him to stop texting you.

Buzz.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you click send. “Alright, I just sent them.”

“Thank you,” your boss says your name. “I'll be in touch.”

You nod, “Let me know if anything else is needed.” Your boss hangs up. The display on your phone changing back to your home screen. Buzz. You are going to kill this man.

Tim: at this point i feel like you're just ignoring me 😔

Tim: i KNOW you're home right now

Tim: gotta admit you're dedicated tho

You glare at your phone, quickly typing out a response.

hey sorry to disappoint but i can be at home AND still work, some of us are actually employed

He instantly responds.

Tim: tf you talking about?? I am literally the ceo of wayne enterprises bro 🥀

I thought that was Lucius??? and even if you are employed you sure act unemployed bro 🥀

Tim: are you calling me chronically online?

Tim: how do you think we met???

Tim: it's a two way street 😭

yeah but like

Tim: 🤨🤨

ok fair enough, but I was working 😭 what was so important that you had to spam me while I was talking to my BOSS

Tim: mb gang i didn't know :(((

Tim: I figured if you didn't respond the first time you'd respond by the 15th time

Tim: and it worked soooo….

get to the point

Tim: so consider

Tim: dinner

You feel your heart skip a beat, your thumbs freezing as any comments you had evaporate from your head.

Tim: at the manor

Oh… That makes more sense. Why would you assume he was asking you out? You scoff, feeling a low surge of disappointment run through your chest.

again??

Tim: yeah i don't wanna be alone 💔

won't there be like 10 people there??? how would you be alone?

Tim: can you just be there pls

no

Tim: please?

i'm busy

Tim: doing what

i shouldn't tell people online what i'm doing, that's creepy of you to ask there buddy 🤨

Tim: you've literally been in my ROOM before hello??

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as you type. Any prior work you were doing is entirely forgotten.

that's an issue, what if I stole something? clearly SOMEBODY forgot to tell you never to tell strangers online your address 😔

Tim: fyi i can handle myself PERFECTLY fine

yeah huh

Tim: and are you implying you stole something from me???

no but i could've, you wouldn't have even noticed

Tim: no I would've

then why'd you ask me if I did?

Tim: to see if you'd admit guilt

I didn't steal anything though??

Tim: that's what a LIAR would say

oh my goodness

you're on your own for dinner

Tim: WAIT PLEASE

Tim: IM SORRY PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THEM

Tim: WE CAN HANG OUT AFTER MAKE IT A WHOLE THING

Tim: ACTUALLY WE CAN JUST DITCH LIKE HALFWAY THROUGH AND HEAD UP TO MY ROOM

damn you're acting as if they burn you at the stake each time there is dinner 😭

Tim: please be there i beg of you 🙏

mmmm i dunno you don't sound desperate enough

Tim: now I KNOW you're lying cause there's no WAY you just said that

Tim: I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could

lmao what's stopping you?

Tim: my dignity

😔

Tim: u being fr rn?

the mental image is very funny

Tim: i'm sure it is, now can we get back on track? could you PLEASE show up to dinner Sunday I'm LITERALLY begging you

THIS SUNDAY???? I THOUGHT IT'D BE LIKE NEXT WEEK OR SOMETHING

Tim: PLEASE I KNOW IT'S SHORT NOTICE I WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR TIME 🙏

Tim: I'LL EVEN ASK ALFRED TO MAKE YOUR FAVORITE FOOD AND DESSERT

That makes you pause.

you will? 🤨

Tim: YES JUST PLEASE SHOW UP

mmm okay

gotta ask, why do you need me there that bad??? don't just say your lonely or smth stupid

Tim: if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal

You furrow your eyebrows, pondering what “abnormal” would look like for the Wayne family. They seemed kind of normal when you met them. Maybe it's some Wayne thing you just don't understand.

what does that even mean??

Tim: just trust me, you being there makes my life 1000x easier

oh so I'm bait 💀

Tim: nononono not like that

Tim: it's nothing actually bad I promise

relax Tim I'm joking lmao, I'll gladly be bait to make your family behave normally 🫡 (as long as you hold up with your deal with Alfred of course)

Tim: you're literally my favorite person in the world right now

Smiling, you chuckle at the message, leaning back into your chair. You are not going to read too much into that.

after this I better be, I'll see you later then

Tim: I can pick you up Sunday around five

perfect, see you then

Tim: see you

You place your phone down. Dinner, huh? It's not like you haven't been to the Wayne's for dinner. This shouldn't be any different. The only other time Tim invited you to dinner was when you were starting to get to know him in person. To be fair, he didn't exactly “invite” you. His family actually insisted that they had to meet Tim's new friend. Tim had quickly informed you that you could decline the “offer,” but you had went anyway. It's not like you could just decline an invitation from Bruce Wayne himself.

The difference between now and then is that Tim is not only inviting you, but practically begging you to show up. Sure, he had snuck you in a few times, but formal invitations were not something that either of you did, not anymore.

What changed?

It's not something you should read into. However, your mind keeps going back to that one line. You open your phone again, scrolling to look at the messages. Your thumb hovers over the message: “if you're there, it forces everybody to act normal.”

Now, it should not be something you should read into. However, the strange thing is, you know exactly what Tim is talking about. When you met the Wayne's everything was seemingly normal, but the issue was that it was too normal. It set off some alarm in your brain, but you couldn't figure out what they did that set it off.

Normal.

What defines normalcy?

Is it the standards that you are accustomed to? Is it expectations one expects a well-adjusted person to have? Either way, it set off some alarms because while you didn't know how to describe their usual behavior, Tim does.

They act normal when you're there. This implies that there is a time where they don't act normal.

Your finger lightly traces the edge of your phone as you stare at the messages. Now, you're definitely reading into this, but the fact of the matter is something is up.

You're going to figure it out.

Meeting Tim had been, potentially, the most unexpected event in your entire life. Now, since both of you live in Gotham, one might presume that perhaps you met somewhere in the city. Perhaps you went to the same university or bumped into each other on the street. Perhaps you had met him at one of the dozens of events hosted by the Waynes every year. The possibilities were endless.

Instead, you met him on a thread online.

You didn't even know it was him.

It had been an online forum. You don't even remember what the exact topic was. It was something photography related. One of the users— TimTam— had been discussing something about how to balance one's subject with the environment around them. They had gone on and on about the rule of thirds, and how the the environment was meant to enhance the subject. Curiously, you had checked out their profile. After all, you'd expect somebody who talked the talk to be able to walk the walk. You'd found a link to a blog he had.

Apparently, you should've never doubted TimTam because the photos he took were absolutely breathtaking. You've lived in Gotham for decades, and yet the photos that TimTam took exhibited an unconventional beauty of the otherwise deplorable city. For a moment, you wondered if this was his job. Some of the photos looked too perfect to just be a mere hobby. He had shots next to the gargoyles on Wayne Tower with angles that looked unfeasible for any sane person to achieve.

Who was this guy?

Curiosity got the better of you. You had attempted to look him up for any other social media accounts, but your efforts were fruitless. A conclusion that only made you more curious.

You wanted to find more about this mysterious individual, so you sent him a quick message. Polite and inquisitive.

Hello! I stumbled onto your page, and I adore your photography! I was wondering if you had any other social media accounts. I would love to follow some of your other socials.

Checking the original forum, you noticed that the timestamp was from over a week ago. Hopefully he'd respond. You didn't really keep up with online photography forums much. Stumbling onto this had been an accident, but a happy accident nevertheless. You were about to get up from your chair, when you saw a little bubble signifying a notification.

Your mouth parted in surprise. That was quick.

TimTam: Hello. I don't have any other socials at the moment for photography. I only really post it occasionally on my main.

You nod, understandable. It's a shame, but you weren't about to ask a random stranger for what may be their potentially personal account. You were about to type your response, when TimTam sends another message.

TimTam: You think I should make a photography accoutn?

TimTam: account*

You slowly blink at the message followed by the typo correction. Somehow this person seems a lot less intimidating than they did five seconds ago.

Absolutely! It's rare that I can find somebody capture Gotham in the perspective you do. I would definitely follow you if you make any other socials.

There's a pause for a moment. The bubble appears, disappears, and reappears again. You tap the space bar of your laptop idly, curious what TimTam has to say.

TimTam: Like right now?

You can't help the surprised snort that escapes you.

I mean if you want? I meant more generally, but now works.

TimTam: Right, right, of course

You like their message, unsure how to respond to that. You think that's the end of your adventures with TimTam, but about ten minutes later you get another message. You open the chat back up. It's an Instagram link.

TimTam: Thanks for the advice. I made the social.

You nod as if they can see your physical response. Tapping onto the link.

For sure! Honored to be the first official follower :)

You actually are their first follower. The account's user is Tim_Tam with a profile picture sitting on the ledge of a building overlooking the sunset. Zero posts, one follower, zero following. It was brand new. Not even a bio present.

Satisfied with how the interaction went, you had presumed that your conversations with TimTam had ended. You didn't exactly give them a reason to keep contacting you.

A few days went by, and slowly TimTam began to post on social media. His first posts garnered thousands of likes, which you found impressive for such a fresh account. You did tell him that he'd do well on other platforms. It didn't take long for him to build up a following. Nothing insane, but definitely a good start.

You had been keeping up with TimTam. You weren't sure what drew you to him, but you found yourself liking each post of his. You found a smile appear on your face each time he posted.

Perhaps you were a tad bit proud that your suggestion led to such fruition.

Judging by the way he had immediately asked you if he should make a photography account, you assumed that he had previously considered the idea. Either that or he was a very spontaneous person.

Either way, you took some satisfaction out of it.

Days had gone by and you watched as his followers trickled up. You found yourself living vicariously through TimTam, silently celebrating ten thousand followers with him.

Then you saw it.

You had been about to go to bed. It was nearly midnight, and it was freezing. The comforters weighed heavily onto you, shrouding you in warmth. On top of that, you had pulled the Batman throw blanket up to your neck, nearly suffocating yourself with the soft material. The blanket had the different symbols of all the Bats plastered onto it against a light gray backdrop. You'd gotten it years ago, and to this day it was still one of your favorite blankets.

You squinted your eyes as the bright light of your phone shone through the otherwise dark room. Your eyes started to feel the strain as you continued to fight the urge to sleep.

Then you saw the notification.

The first thing you registered wasn't the message, but the sender of the message.

TimTam (or is it Tim_Tam now?) had sent you a message.

Sitting up, you read the notification, not wanting him to know you're reading his message.

Tim_Tam

[Image attached]

Sent now

Tim_Tam

[Image attached]

Sent now

Tim_Tam

Which one do you think looks better?

Sent now

You paused, thumb hovering over the Instagram notifications. You couldn't see the photos if you didn't click the message. However, if you clicked the messages, he'd know you're awake.

Would it be weird to respond? It's nearly midnight. What if he judges your poor sleeping schedule?

Then again… He texted you first. If anything he should be worried about how he comes across. Also, why should you care? It's just a stranger on the internet.

Before you could reconsider your actions, you clicked on the messages.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

The two photos looked practically identical. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a few discrepancies, but they were so insignificant that they were practically the same photo.

It was taken on a rooftop. Nightwing and Robin were shown to be conversing with one another. It was, quite possibly, the clearest photos of the vigilantes you had ever seen.

Of course, you've seen the blurry images and videos of the vigilantes captured by the news or even by Gothamites themselves, but none of them were this sharp. It was evident that the photo was taken from a distance (likely due to TimTam not wanting to be spotted), but that didn't change the fact that this was potentially the best photo you'd seen of the vigilantes before.

Sure, you've seen a whispered shadow pass over your head, or even heard the roar of the Batmobile echo across the city, but you had never gotten a clear look at their faces. It's blurry enough where specific identifiable facial features may not be evident, but it's clear enough that you can actually deduce their facial expressions.

Nightwing appears to be smiling, a wide grin plastered onto his face. Robin doesn't share the same expression. It's more difficult to tell what he's thinking, but it's evident that he does not share Nightwing's apparent amusement.

You swipe between the two photos TimTam sent. You were only able to make out five differences total. In the first photo, Robin's shoulders were more tense, Nightwing's mouth was slightly open (though still grinning) as if caught mid-speech, and the lights of the city shined down a low red lighting onto their costumes, bathing them in the ominous color.

The second photo had Nightwing simply offering an amused grin, smiling with his teeth on display. He wasn't saying anything. Robin's shoulders were more relaxed, but the unamused expression was a constant in both photos. The low red lighting from the first photo turned into a slightly more vibrant scarlet that enveloped the subjects. If you looked closely, you'd notice that Nightwing had a couple strands of hair out of place. The change making him look slightly more unkempt. The only other noticeable change was the direction Robin faced. In the second photo, he is angled just ever so slightly more towards Nightwing.

The second one for sure. It makes them both look cooler with the lighting and it feels slightly more personal.

Tim_Tam: Okay, thanks.

You stare at the photos for a moment longer, waiting for something else. No other response came. You furrow your brows, typing another message. Before TimTam was interesting. But now?

Wait that's it?

Now he's borderline unreal.

Tim_Tam: Yeah, I couldn't really decide

Tim_Tam: It's not like I could ask Nightwing and Robin their opinions. I doubt they even know the photo was taken.

Who even is this guy?

You're telling me that you snuck up on NIGHTWING and ROBIN

and you can't choose which photo looks better???

Tim_Tam: In all fairness, their vibes are VERY different. I couldn't tell which one to go for.

He's right. Despite capturing the same moment, the minute differences change the interpretation of the photos immensely.

That's fair.

Should I even ask how you got these photos?

Tim_Tam: It sounds like you are asking

Tim_Tam: Let's just say I have my ways

You frown. That was entirely expected, but still disappointing.

Are you planning on selling them?

There's a pause for a moment. The bubbles appear, then disappear, then reappear.

Tim_Tam: What?

Like the photos. You could probably sell them to the Gotham Gazette and get a quick buck or something.

I don't think I've ever seen any news agency with photos THIS clear. I'm sure they'd eat it up.

Tim_Tam: Maybe? I hadn't really considered that

Wait wait you're telling me you stalked after vigilantes for love of the game??

Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much

At this point, you're wide awake. All sleepiness that clouded your brain fanned away long ago.

Are those the only ones you have?

There's a long pause.

Tim_Tam: At the moment.

I'm not saying you should follow the Bats again but like…

These photos are actually phenomenal, you could get famous for this.

There's another long pause.

Tim_Tam: You think?

100%. I've NEVER seen such prisitine photos of Nightwing and Robin. It's genuinely impressive.

Tim_Tam: Hm

Tim_Tam: I'll see what I can do.

That was the start of your friendship with TimTam. Vigilante photos. Two nights after the Nightwing and Robin photo situation, you received another text.

Tim_Tam

[Image attached]

Sent now

You nearly dropped your phone upon opening the message.

If you thought the Nightwing and Robin photo was clear? This was night and day. It was single handled the best photo of Red Robin you've ever seen. The image pictured Red Robin kicking some criminal. The dynamic pose combined with the sheer clarity of the photo made for an actual masterpiece. You could see the way that his suit fit his form. The way he clenched his jaw as he struck the criminal. It was so close. It almost looks like TimTam had taken security camera footage, zoomed in, and somehow enhanced it.

???

Tim_Tam: Is that a good or bad ???

GOOD DEFINITELY GOOD

HOW IS IT SOMEHOW BETTER THAN THE NIGHTWING AND ROBIN ONE

Tim_Tam: I'm good at photography I guess

Tim_Tam: you're a Red Robin fan?

Were you imagining the smug tone behind that? Was Red Robin even your favorite? You liked Red Robin, but your favorite?

I suppose

Tim_Tam: You suppose?? Damnnnn okay

My bad 😭 didn't realize you were a big Red Robin fan

Tim_Tam: No no it's fine

Tim_Tam: Perhaps I'll have to get more to convince you

At that point just interview him. You're already stalking the poor guy.

Tim_Tam: He's finr

Tim_Tam: fine*

He paused.

Tim_Tam: For the record though, I probably could

You chuckled. Whoever this was seemed very confident they could get an interview with Red Robin. Have you even seen vigilante interviews? Maybe a statement or two here and there, but never full on interviews.

Maybe stick to your day job

Tim_Tam: I feel like you're challenging me 🤨

Nonono

Just like

I'd hate to read in the paper that Red Robin beat you up

There was a long moment of silence, Tim_Tam wasn't even typing.

Tim_Tam: Nah I can handle him

You were full on laughing at your phone by this point.

Tim_Tam: He didn't even notice me taking the photos or anything

And that translates to his fighting ability??

Tim_Tam: I mean all you got to do is get one really good hit in and he's out

Tim_Tam: he's only human

you sure of that? 🤨🤨

Tim_Tam: Positive, I think I have a shot

Well then, I await the day I see the headline

“photographer takes out Red Robin with a single hit”

Tim_Tam: Oh yeah that'll for sure be the headline

Tim_Tam: I'll personally get the photo for that story. Send a photo of it just to you to prove myself

Do you always look for validation from strangers on the internet??

Tim_Tam: Do you always judge the photos of photographers on the internet??

do NOT pin this on me, you asked me to pick between the two :(

Tim_Tam: mhm

I wasn't even being critical of them, all I said was that I liked the second one better

Tim_Tam: I believe your exact words were that they looked “cooler” and “felt more personal”

I didn't say the other ones were bad though!! I'm pretty sure I said they were the BEST photos of Nightwing and Robin I've seen so far

also

Tim_Tam: ?

You hesitated. Was this being too casual with TimTam? The two of you seem to be getting along fine, but you hadn't asked him any truly heavy questions.

I was just curious— feel free to not answer— but are you planning on posting the Nightwing and Robin photos?

Somehow, you felt as if the tension rose at your question. TimTam diidn't immediately respond. There was no indication that he's even read your message. Then you saw the bubble. Typing. Not typing. Typing.

Tim_Tam: No

Tim_Tam: I can't

Absentmindedly you tapped the side of your phone, eyebrows furrowing.

Ah okay

The response was lame, and both of you knew it. You silently berated yourself for ruining the atmosphere. TimTam didn't respond after that. He didn't react to the message, but you still saw that he was online. Resigned, you slowly put your phone back on the nightstand. Shutting your eyes, you twist your body in the opposite direction of the device. Out of sight, out of mind—

Bzzt!

Your phone's vibration caused you to freeze. No, no. You needed to sleep. It might not even be TimTam. It could've been a random email that you'll never look at. Even if it was TimTam, it was completely understandable if you didn't respond, given how late it is.

However, curiosity did kill the cat.

You turned over, slowly grabbing you phone. You had zero expectations (at least that's what you told yourself). TimTam was probably asleep too. It's not like you two were close enough to be chatting casually this late.

Tim_Tam: It's not that I don't want to don't get me wrong

Tim_Tam: It's just that something happened, and I can't do it

Without thinking, you opened the message. Damn it, he's going to think you're a loser, immediately coming online the moment he messages you.

No need to justify yourself, I get it

I'm glad that you decided to share the photos you've taken with me though

TimTam paused, but his next reply had you reeling.

Tim_Tam: Robin paid me a visit

You felt your heart start to pound as if it was you who Robin visited. You could only imagine how TimTam handled the situation. How did he neglect to mention that?!

Are you serious??? Thought you said that he and Nightwing weren't aware you were photographing them?

Tim_Tam: So

Tim_Tam: How do I say this

The responses were rapid, you could feel TimTam's unease through the screen.

Shoudl I be concerned??

should*

Tim_Tam: Would you believe me if I hypothetically said I sought out Robin

like you took more photos of him??

Tim_Tam: No like I talked with him

He did what?

Tim_Tam: And hypothetically he said that the photos must never be seen by the public

hypothetically did you agree??

Tim_Tam: kinda??

oh my gosh are you going to be on a vigilante hit list?

Tim_Tam: I don't think that's a thing 💀

you THINK? the same guy who THOUGHT Nightwing and Robin weren't aware of you??

Tim_Tam: TECHNICALLY they weren't, I just wanted to show them the photos get their thoughts

…my guy this is on you why would you TELL them??

praying for you 🙏

Tim_Tam: Are you still implying that Robin is going to off me??

I'm JUST saying, now they know who you are

if they see any photos like the ones you took they'll know it was you

probably dox you or something idk

Tim_Tam: You make an excellent point

Tim_Tam: eh It'll be fine though

Did you get Nightwing or Red Robin's opinion too?

It felt stupid to ask. You imagine he would've said something if he met another vigilante. TimTam took a minute to respond.

Tim_Tam: Nightwing no, Red Robin yes

Or not… What kind of guy just casually forgets to mention he met not one but two vigilantes?

What'd he say?

Tim_Tam: He thought it was cool

You stared at the message for a long moment, waiting to see if he'd elaborate.

He thought it was cool??

Tim_Tam: Yep

and that's it..?

Tim_Tam: Uhh I can't really remember

did he knock you out or something??? you conversed with RED ROBIN and can't even bother to remember what he said??

Tim_Tam: to be fair he didn't say much

You're telling me he SERIOUSLY just said “cool” and then left??

Tim_Tam: yeah pretty much

You let out a puff of amusement. What a weird world you live in. This random internet photographer you found has somehow met two of Gotham's vigilante's, been threatened by one of them, and is still acting like this isn't a big deal.

Tim_Tam: Oh and he said he didn't mind the photos

Finally, something.

Are you going to try and catch him again?

I feel obligated to preface this by saying this is NOT me encouraging you to go track down vigilantes

Tim_Tam: uhhhh

???

Tim_Tam: [Image Attached]

Tim_Tam: You're a bit too late, already caught him again

You stare blankly at the new image. It's another image of Red Robin. This time it's not an action shot. Instead, it capture the vigilante sitting casually on the edge of the building. His knee is propped up in front of him, his arm casually resting on it. The angle of this photo is different. It isn't taken from above, nor from the streets below. Instead, it's taken from the very rooftop Red Robin is sitting on. If you had to hazard a guess, TimTam took this photo from the ground of the rooftop with his camera at a low angle.

Dude did you CRAWL to get this photo???

Tim_Tam: …why would you ask that??

Cause how else did you get a get that specific angle of Red Robin?? Did you share a rooftop with him??

You pause, scrutinizing the photograph. There's a figure in the back, and upon further examination, you realize who it is.

IS THAT NIGHTWING IN THE DISTANCE???? YOU CAUGHT HIM AGAIN???

Tim_Tam: What???

There is a pause for a moment.

Tim_Tam: Huh didn't even see him lol

“Didn't even see him lol.” You weren't even sure if you're surprised anymore. All you can do is stare at the photograph with Red Robin (and Nightwing pictured in the back) in awe. For a moment, you considered whether TimTam truly asked Red Robin to pose for it. It certainly looked like it.

you ACCIDENTALLY got a picture of Red Robin posing with Nightwing in the distance???

Tim_Tam: Red Robin isn't posing what??

dude he is LITERALLY posing for the photo

There was a momentary pause.

Tim_Tam: idk it looks pretty natural to me

sure we'll go with that

You sighed, rubbing you temples. This guys has to be playing you.

Tim_Tam: damn okay fine doubt me

Tim_Tam: I'll try again

You almost felt your blood pressure spike seeing the message. What kind of person gets threatened by Robin and decides to pursue the guy? Determined, you pick up your phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.

You are not going to be a bystander in this guy's inevitable demise.

Was it an unconventional way to befriend somebody? Perhaps, but it was Gotham. TimTam seemed relatively nice, a trait found few and far between in a city like this. It helped that he enjoyed your company as well. There were many nights where neither of you could fall asleep, and the only thing keeping you up was the quiet vibration of your phone going off, signaling that he was still there.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months dragged on for a year.

After a year, you’d think that you’d know a bit more about who TimTam really was. Perhaps a small slip up that leads to a meet up? Did you even want to meet up with TimTam? What if he’s been playing the long game, waiting to get your trust before inevitably killing you in a back alley, your name never to be mentioned again outside of a True Crime Story podcast in a few years. You shuddered at the thought.

Dramatic? Yes. Paranoid? Absolutely.

Still doesn’t stop the growing desire to know who he is.

Have you walked past him on the street? Maybe you went to school together? Perhaps you both frequent a place with no idea the other is there. The possibilities were endless. They were killing you, and yet neither of you brought up the topic.

The closest you got to hints was talking about the latest news.

did you see hear about those buildings that Firefly lit up?

Tim_Tam: “see” would be an understatement, closer to felt

Your eyebrows raised into your hairline.

oh shit, are you okay??

Tim_Tam: i’m fineeee

Tim_Tam: tis but a scratch

Tim_Tam: or burn

You back straightened as you sat up from the curb. Police sirens still rang out, the blaring noise causing your eardrums to vibrate in an unpleasant manner. You frantically looked over the crowd of people: officers, paramedics, examiners, victims, detectives.

Is he one of them?

You weren’t sure what he looked like. He’d been (frustratingly) vague about who he is, but, to be fair, you weren’t any more explicit.

you’re here?

The message is sent and read almost immediately. You watch as the bubble of him typing appears. On. Off. On. Off. You stare at the screen, squinting, attempting to block out the noise of your environment. For a moment, you wonder if something happened. Does he not want to answer that question?

Tim_Tam: wait you're here??

Tim_Tam: shit what are you doing here?

Against your will, your heart started pumping. The accelerating rhythm causing your hands to shake as you typed out your next message, even if— at the time— you insisted it was just the cold, damp, air of Gotham.

Tim_Tam: are you okay?

Tim_Tam: did anything happen to you?

Tim_Tam: are you still here?

You didn't get a chance to respond. Tim manages to send three messages in the time it takes your freezing hands to type half of one. You ran your finger slowly against the screen of your phone, your hands leaving imprints on the device.

not for much longer, I’m planning on leaving soon

“I’m free to go, right?” You confirmed with the paramedic on your right, looking over a young boy. The kid was unharmed, but apparently did not appreciate the examination. The paramedic turned to you, looking you up and down.

“You were already checked for other injuries? Concussions? Anything?” They slowly turned away from you back to the kid. You nodded, “Yeah, I feel fine.” You weren’t lying either. If anything, you were more shaken up then injured.

The paramedic sighed, “Alright, just make sure to rest. It’s been a long night. Take it easy for the next few days. If you notice anything, I’d go to any of the Wayne sponsored health facilities.” They pasued for a moment. “If anything, I’d recommend the clinic near Crime Alley if you want to avoid wait times.” They shined a light into the boy’s eye, “Sketchy area, but the General Hospital tends to get overcrowded fast.”

You blinked, surprised by the helpful advice. “Thanks,” you nodded slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You waited there for an extra beat to see if they’d respond, but it seemed as if that was all they had to say. Slowly, you made your way around the scene, ducking under the caution tape as you attempted to find a way out of the area. Reporters and police officers appeared to be stationed at every corner of the scene, and you didn't particularly want to look at the burned down section of the Upper West Side mere blocks away from the university.

Braving the crowds of cameras it is.

Slowly, you made your way over to the least crowded corner of the scene, nodding at the officer. He returned the nod and watched you raise the caution tape and walk past the dozens of journalists and reporters.

Then you felt it.

You’re no stranger to the sensation of having eyes on you. In fact, it’s a universal experience for every Gothamite. You’d heard stories from friends who committed crimes, albeit petty ones, that even if they got away with a crime or two, they always felt like he was watching. Despite avoiding crime as much as possible (a challenge on its own), you somehow understood them.

The sensation of somebody always there.

Somebody always in the shadows.

Somebody watching.

Usually, you’d describe that sensation as heavy, looming. It was akin to a shadow being cast over you, blocking out any source of light, essentially leaving you in the darkness with nothing but your own doubts and fears. It's part of how Batman was able to have some semblance of control of crime.

However, contrary to that fear, it also provided a sense of safety. You knew you weren’t a target, you’d never be a target. That fear that’s instilled by Batman wasn’t meant for you, it was meant to help people like you.

This, though, is different.

There is no doubt in your mind somebody is watching you. Your skin prickles at the thought, yet the longer you wait for that sharp spike of fear…

It doesn’t come.

Now, you’ve lived in Gotham for a long time. Perhaps your instincts aren’t perfect, but you’d say they’re pretty damn good.

So the fact that somebody is singling you out and watching you? Your brain screamed at you that there was everything wrong with that, which made sense. It’s an assertion most people would agree with.

However.

With an almost dramatic turn, you slowly lifted your gaze up to the buildings across the street. Far enough to be safe from the fire, but close enough to have the perfect view.

You huffed, a small smile on your face.

In the distance, you saw two figures on the rooftop. While it’s hard to deduce the exact builds of the tem, what you could see were the colors.

You could also tell that one of them is looking directly at you. After seeing who knows how many Red Robin photos in the past year (courtesy of Tim), you concluded that Red Robin was most definitely watching you from across the street.

Yep, this is normal. Perhaps Red Robin knows that Tim sends you the photos he takes of him.

You slowly raised a hand up, hesitantly waving at him.

For a moment, nothing happened, and you felt a tad bit stupid for waving at a vigilante and expecting him to wave back. Awkwardly, you lowered your arm, grabbing your phone out of your pocket to check the time. Shutting your phone back off, you shifted your eyes up, expecting the vigilantes to have vanished (something you’ve heard they’re notorious for).

Instead, your mouth parted in surprise as Red Robin slowly waved back at you.

You blinked slowly at the vigilante in the distance in sheer disbelief, not physically reacting otherwise. Almost as if he’s embarrassed, Red Robin slowly lowered his arm back down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer before, inevitably, something else caught his attention. His head tilted away from you, and you watched as he turned to face Spoiler and Black Bat (when did Black Bat get there?).

You used the opportunity to slowly raise your phone up, zooming your camera in on the small group of vigilantes before snapping a photo.

Tim won’t believe this.

Tim did, in fact, believe you.

Truthfully, he was… not as impressed with you as you were with yourself.

Tim_Tam: lowkey?? why is the quality pixilated 💀

I’m sorry I don’t walk around with a professional camera around my neck???

Also what happened to “man that was really scary” and “I hope you’re okay”

Tim_Tam: man that was really scary

Tim_Tam: I hope you’re okay

Tim_Tam: quality could be better tho (genuinely glad you're okay though)

damn I’m sorry not all of us have vigilantes on call to do photo shoots with

I tried my best and I was lucky I even got that shot

you know he WAVED at me

thought he’d ignore me

Tim_Tam: Why would he ignore you??

idk maybe he’s like “eugh look at the civilian waving at me like a loser”

Tim paused for a moment.

Tim_Tam: why does he sound so mean in your head??

oh right mb, forgot you're the #1 RR apologist

Tim_Tam: okay now THATS an exaggeration

is it though??

Tim_Tam: very much so yes

if you say so

You snorted, putting your phone on the nightstand and turning the lights off before you nestled yourself into bed. Gotham's freezing weath showed no mercy tonight, and the warm blankets made you brain leap with joy, sending tingles throughout your body. Your phone was charging, the night was young, you’d actually sleep well tonight, and—

The light of your phone flashed, blinding you temporarily. The accompanying vibration didn’t help because now you knew it was Tim. Huffing, you turn your body away from the device that attempts to lure you in.

You needed to go to sleep early, you had an eight AM the next day. You couldn't afford to lose sleep talking to—

The light from your phone manages to light up the whole room, even if you’re not facing the source.

Okay, you will check the phone once to turn the brightness down. You would not read the messages. Tim would understand. You have to sleep, being a responsible adult and all that. With a slow, deep sigh, you reached over to grab your phone, squinting when you realize just how bright it was. That’s when you saw the messages:

Tim_Tam

Would you want to meet in person?

Sent 3m ago

Tim_Tam

Sorry that was really abrupt

Sent 1m ago

Tim_Tam

Just ignore that lol

Sent now

You had never sat up so fast from your bed, and that’s including the times he sent you those photos of the Bats the first few times.

Tim wants to what?

You haven’t even called the guy before.

Wait you can’t just drop that on me and leave

Tim_Tam: sorry?

Where would you want to meet?

Tim_Tam: Wait you’re saying yes?

Tim_Tam: What if I’m like a creepy serial killer who befriends people on the internet and then takes them to their house to kill them?

You paused.

Are you?

Tim_Tam: No but like

Tim_Tam: how would you know I’m NOT?

I can’t tell if you’re trying to defend yourself

I’m like 99% sure you’re not a killer though?

Tim_Tam: Okay but like

Tim_Tam: 99% isn’t 100%

Tim_Tam: chances are not 0

Tim

Tim_Tam: yeah?

If you want to meet, where would it be?

Tim_Tam: uhh

Tim_Tam: Robinson Park work?

Yeah I can probably head there after my classes

I’ll be done around 11

Tim_Tam: Alright cool

Was it you, or did this feel a little anticlimactic? Perhaps it just hadn't hit you yet? You waited for another message, yet the bubbles of forming messages continued to taunt you.

Tim_Tam: Sorry I gtg, we can work out more details later?

Yeah sure, have fun photographing your fav

Tim_Tam: haha you’re SO funny

I know :)

The next day came all too soon yet not quick enough. The second you opened your eyes, a singular thought implanted itself in your head:

Today was the day you were going to meet Tim.

Despite the quiz you had during your early morning discussion, and the midterm prep went over during your following lecture. Neither of the them made you as anxious as meeting Tim. As the final minutes of your lecture passed, you felt a nervous excitement run through your body.

Okay done with my classes, omw

You sent the quick text, giving him a heads up. It’d probably take you a bit to walk there, but it gave you enough time to plan this out.

Like… Do you need to worry about first impressions?

Is this a first impression?

You're technically meeting him for the first time, but it’s not like he’s a stranger.

It's... First-impression-adjacent. Yeah, something like that. You still weren't sure, but you didn't get a chance to dwell on it because you felt your phone vibrate. You didn't stop walking as you check the screen.

Tim_Tam: Hey there is something I should tell you before we meet

Tim_Tam: It’s a little important

uh oh, you’re not actually a killer right?

Tim_Tam: no, no, no

Tim_Tam: Nothing like that

Tim_Tam: but uh

Tim_Tam: My name

Tim_Tam: it’s Tim Drake

You halted. Staring at the words laid plainly on your phone. Tim Drake?

That Tim Drake? The one Bruce Wayne took in? You weren't well versed in the intricate details of the Wayne family lore, but you know about as much as any other Gotham citizen. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in front of him when he was a kid, and now he’s a billionaire playboy with a known habit of adopting kids. Tim Drake is one of them. You didn't actually know much about him, but you’ve seen him on TV or on the news every now and then talking about Wayne Enterprises or something.

woah that’s crazy

I didn’t wan tot tell you but I’m actually Bruce Wayne

want to*

Tim_Tam: I’m not joking I swear

nor am I

Tim_Tam: You don’t believe me

I believe you when you say you aren’t a killer

idk about the Tim Drake thing though

Tim_Tam: should I be concerned that you somehow find me being myself is less probable than me being a killer?

Probably

Is this like a new catfishing tactic

There was a long pause.

Tim_Tam: I’m sorry what??

You could almost hear the bewilderment, and you chuckle at the thought.

oh you know

Tim_Tam: I don’t actually? Is this a common occurrence for you??

no

hence why I ask what’s with the Tim Drake catfishing tactic

Tim_Tam: I really hope it’s NOT a thing? How would it even work??

idk probably something like “Hey baby my name is Tim Drake, I have lots of money do you want to meet at the park to get to know each other better?”

Tim_Tam: I have never ONCE in my LIFE said that

Tim_Tam: I swear I am Tim Drake, we’re literally meeting in like five minutes

Tim_Tam: I promise I’m here, just meet me around the gardens

Now, was it stupid to potentially walk into such an obviously fake trap?

Absolutely.

Did you do it anyway?

Absolutely.

It wasn’t long before you had found a bench not too far from the gardens. You sent Tim-Maybe-Drake a quick update on your location. In spite of how ill-prepared you may seem to the naked eye, you did ask one of your friends to check your location and check in to make sure you don’t die.

Oh and pepper spray. Better safe than sorry.

Tim-Maybe-Drake reacted to your message with a quick thumbs up, and you fidgeted on the bench. You loosely kicked a rock with your foot, taking note of old footprints on the dirt path. As the minutes passed by, the anxiety began to creep back in. What if this was just a joke? What if you were dead-on with the catfishing Tim Drake idea? It was a strange idea, but it got you to come meet in person, didn’t it?

Somebody cleared their throat from the left side of the path, and you turn to look up.

Holy shit.

You blinked rapidly as if Tim Drake will vanish from your eyesight. He looks both the same and different from what you’ve seen in photos. Physically, he mostly looks the same, perhaps a bit leaner than you expected. He must workout, you idly note. His hair looks the same as it does in the photos, perhaps a bit more messy? It also seems too perfect in every photo you see of him.

However, the way he carries himself?

When you searching up information about a billionaire and his children, you saw what you expected online. Articles written on the Wayne children weren’t nearly as ever present as ones about Bruce himself, but every now and then there would be something.

In the few minutes before Tim arrived (you may have looked him up mere seconds before his arrival), you noticed that he looked confident, composed. He had that air about him that only comes from growing up in such a high-end environment.

On one hand, you see the Tim Drake that the media portrays. The adopted son of Bruce Wayne. A man who has clearly grown up in an environment so unlike your own it’s a miracle you even crossed paths with him.

However, you also see the hint of uncertainty that bleeds through his fleeting glances to you. The way his eyes rest on you anxiously, as if waiting for your judgment. For a moment, you consider that he was just as anxious about meeting you than you were meeting him. The prospect seems absurd, but looking at him now, you believe it.

“Oh…” You commented eloquently.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “That’s— That’s it? Just ‘oh?’”

You nodded slowly, “I mean— I… You know I had like zero faith in you.” That’s a lie, you had at least a sprinkle of faith that he was telling the truth. Not that you’ll tell him that.

“That’s reassuring. Thank you for that.” Tim replied dryly.

“You know the whole photographing vigilante’s thing makes so much sense now.” You stood up, hesitantly approaching him.

He tilted his head, “How so?”

“Only rich people would have such an insane hobby. The adrenaline rush or something I assume.” You shrugged casually, and Tim had the gall to to look offended.

“Okay, but my main thing isn’t even photographing vigilantes. I don’t even post those, and you know that.” He raised a finger indignantly. “And they aren’t even intentional anyway! I’m just lucky.”

“Luckiest guy I’ve ever met then.” You smirked, “Save some for the rest of us.”

He chuckled, “Of course, it’s my fault whenever somebody has bad luck.”

“At least you acknowledge it.” You huffed, a grin plastered on your face.

He laughs, and it hits you that this is Tim, as in the Tim you’ve been talking to day and night. That Tim also happens to be the billionaire Tim Drake, and you are having a normal conversation with him in a park in Gotham. You watch as his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you feel yourself mirroring his expression involuntarily.

You stifled your laughter, clearing your throat, “You know, I was actually worried you were catfishing me.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “If I wanted to catfish you, I’d have gone about this way different.” He pauses, "For the record, I do not want to catfish you."

“That’s reassuring.” You threw his own words back at him, and he sighed.

“It should be.” He paused for a moment, and the two of you continue to walk down a path. “Did you really not suspect anything?”

You blink, “About you being…” you gestured to him, and he nodded. You shook your head, “Not until you said anything, no. You don’t give ‘Tim Drake vibes’ when we text.” You did air quotes.

He let out a surprised laugh, “What— What are ‘Tim Drake vibes?’” He looked amused at the prospect.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s just, when I text you, I don’t think ‘wow this guy seems like Tim Drake.’”

He nodded as if that made sense, “I’m going to take that as a good thing?”

You shrugged, “I mean it’s certainly a thing. Your call about whether it’s good or bad.”

He sighed, and you laughed at his exasperated expression. “Y’know now that I actually know you’re you, I’m surprised you actually showed up.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, “Why would I not? I asked you?”

“You had no idea who I was up to like five minutes ago, what if I had planned this and planned on using you for ransom?” You teased, and the two of you exit the park. You weren't sure where Tim is taking you, but you’re heading back in the direction of Gotham University.

“Been there.” By his tone alone, you believed him. “And trust me I can handle myself perfectly fine if you tried kidnapping me.”

You raised an eyebrow, “If you can handle yourself so well, how come people were able to kidnap you for ransom in the past?”

He opened his mouth, glaring at you, ready to defend himself, but no words came out.

“I… Those were extenuating circumstances.” He scoffed.

“Mhm, real extenuating.” Your voice contained the utmost sympathy for him.

“And I feel like you’re mocking me.” He tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“It’s okay, I probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the thugs too.” You winced, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“That’s not—” At your laughter he stops talking, and instead stares dumbly at you, slowly blinking, as you continue to laugh at him. He released a half-amused exhale while you snickered at him for the next few minutes.

The rest of the meeting went well, very well. The two of you had instantly fell back into your familiar banter, except it was a thousand times more exciting in person. After that meeting, Tim had started asking if you wanted to hang out regularly. It was a safe distance for both of you. Neither of you got too close.

Then he invited you to one of Bruce Wayne’s charity events. It was a casual invite, it meant nothing, and you knew that. He wasn’t inviting you as a partner, but as a friend. It was a completely normal invite that had no other implications. Why would you stress over that?

It certainly didn’t help your stress levels when you realized that if you accepted you’d have to meet Bruce Wayne himself.

You had— not subtly— asked Tim if this meant that you would be subjected to the judgment of his family. He had told you that you “Don’t need to worry about that” and that “They should be the last people judging.” Both of his “reassurances” did little to truly ease your worries.

Eventually, you had accepted, attempting to dress your best. The actual event itself was as you expected. Long and filled with lots of meaningless chatter. The main joy found was snickering with Tim off to the side. You had teased him for the sheer switch in personality he would make every time one of Gotham’s elites approached you both. It was kind of jarring, the phoniness of everything here. It made you feel better every time would side eye you with a look reading “Get a load of this guy.”

It reminded you that somehow you had worked into one of the highest circle’s in Gotham without even knowing. Seeing him turn to you, relieved to have somebody who knows him?

It may sound silly, but it made you feel good, like your friendship actually means something.

Your gratification at the prospect was short lived. Quickly replaced with the familiar stress of meeting Bruce Wayne. Tim reassured you that it would not be as bad as you were imagining, and that he’ll like you. You didn’t share his confidence, but you appreciated his optimism. You ignored the idea in your head that this could be interpreted as you both dating.

Cause that’d be stupid.

It turns out that Tim was right though. Bruce was actually not as bad as you expected. He was a bit brash and you definitely forced some laughs in the conversation, but he seemed to approve of you the second that Tim introduced you. You didn’t miss the look that he gave Tim when first introducing you. Tim never mentioned it afterwards, and while you were curious about it, you didn’t feel the need to bring it up.

By the end of the night, he had introduced you to most of his family, and— like Bruce— they all seemed to like you. The consensus seemed to be positive, which was what you were hoping for. After leaving your final introduction with Duke, Tim had placed his hand on your shoulder with a grin as if saying “See? You lived!”

After that event, you had assumed that meetings with his family would be few and far between. Perhaps for a social event every now and then, but you didn’t expect to start seeing them regularly.

It felt strange at first, like visiting someone’s house for the first time and always having to go through the unavoidable phase where you practically tip-toe everywhere, not wanting their family to hate you.

It was that but tenfold.

Tim had welcomed you in, soon followed by Steph and Duke. You felt more at ease the longer the four of you spent time together. By the time it was time for you to return home, you had practically forgotten your earlier worries.

It quickly became routine. At least once a week, you’d come over to hang out at the Manor. Sometimes Steph would be there, sometimes some of his brothers would be, and sometimes it’d be just you and Tim. As time went on, you started to hang out with his family without him, and you quickly found yourself recounting stories about Tim over girl’s night with Steph, Cass, and occasionally Barbara. You had told them how the two of you met, and somebody must have talked because you had received texts from Tim the next day saying that everybody was making fun of him. You felt a tad bit bad for him, but both of you seemed more amused than genuinely angry.

You were happy.

It seemed like everything was going right for once. You were doing well in university, your job was paying the bills, and you had a group of friends you truly liked being around. Your life felt normal, and that felt good.

Obviously, that normalcy didn't last for long.

You got out of the taxi, walking up the stone steps as you put your phone away. Unfortunately, registration this semester was not kind to you, and you ended up with a lecture at seven in the evening on a Friday.

Not ideal.

You had debated skipping this class, but you told yourself that you’re going to do the responsible thing and show up to class. After all, with finals coming up, you didn’t want to make any risks that could lead to failure.

The lecture itself was the same as always. You had definitely spaced out a few times, and the dim lighting of the room combined with the slow tone of the professor was not helping one bit. By the end of the lecture, it seemed like everybody was eager to go home, and the professor had even let the lecture end ten minutes earlier.

Instantly packing up all your notes, you had promptly left the building. The chilling breeze of Gotham immediately hit you, and you sighed realizing it had begun raining. Typical Gotham weather strikes again.

You had attempted to stay under any roofs you could, but eventually you were forced to venture out into the pouring rain. Before reaching the main streets, you had taken a shortcut. A shortcut you had taken hundreds of times in the past. It was a lot less crowded, and did a better job of shielding you from the rain.

Weaving around puddles on the ground, you attempted to get out of the path as fast as possible. All you could think of is that warm taxi that would be awaiting you at the end of this alley. The end was in sight, but that vision crumbled before your eyes when the resounding blow of gunfire echoed in your enclose space. It caused you to flinch, and you immediately spun around, attempting to determine the source of the sound. You didn’t see anybody behind you, so you came to the dreadful conclusion that it came from your intended destination.

You slow to a stop, is it worth just pushing forward and attempting to run for the first taxi you see? You already made it this far, and you’d have to retrace your steps just to take the alternative path. Sighing, you move to turn around when four men in balaclavas entered the alley, running like their life depended on it. Fuck.

“You think we lost em?” One of them, still looking back, asks. He turns to face you, and you stare at each other awkwardly.

“Scream and we put a bullet through you.” Another one hisses, raising his gun to point at you. Your heart thumps against your chest as you silently raise your hands, nodding.

They don’t separate as they each point their gun at you, slowly moving around you. They keep their eyes trained on you, and you aren't entirely sure which one to look at. They eventually made their way around you, and you were stuck in this awkward stalemate. They don't move to lower their guns.

“We can’t just let her go! She’s gonna run out and yell for someone!” One of them whispers to his friend.

“So what're we gonna do?” He whispers back.

“We can kill her?” Another one suggests. Please no. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

“No, no, bad idea. The Bat will be on our ass if we leave a body behind.” A different one responds.

“So what? We just knock her out?” One of them gestures to you with his gun.

“Probably the best idea. We’re taking too long to debate this, somebody knock her out.” The one next to him points to you. You let out a sigh of relief, at least they won’t kill you. Maybe you can get away with just pretending to get knocked out and waiting for them to leave?

“Alright, I can do it.” One of them approaches you and raises the butt of his gun. He’s about to strike down, when he is flung against the wall, startling all of you.

“Who the hell?!” A thug cries out, raising his gun, finger twitching on the trigger. You instinctively cover your head and hunch over as he swings his gun to point to you. Once you realize he’s not aiming for you, you turn your gaze from the ground up to your savior.

Red Robin? Huh, what are the chances?

You watch as he effortlessly disarms the goons before sweeping two of them off their feet. Red Robin rushes to pin them back down, but one of them uses the opportunity to strike the vigilante just above the eye with the butt of his gun. You wince, hissing in sympathy. Red Robin barely reacts, instead giving them a quick strike to the head, silencing their yells.

You feel yourself relax as you watch Red Robin turn his head to the remaining thug. He’s attempting to run away, and Red Robin pulls out a grappling hook before launching it and yanking the guy back. “Please man! Let me go!”

“Not a chance.” Red Robin replies dryly before knocking him out, similar to the guys before. With all the threats neutralized, he turns to face you for the first time. Instinctively, you stand up straighter.

“Are you okay?” He asks, shifting on his feet under your gaze.

Huh, you didn’t expect him to sound like that. You weren’t sure what you expected, the voice modulation wasn't a surprise, but his tone is somewhat discernable. You had expected something similar to the grittiness of Batman or even the charismatic confidence of Nightwing.

If anything, you’d say Red Robin sounds just as awkward as you feel right now.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod, “Thanks.” You smile at him.

He returns the nod, “Yeah, of course.” He nods at you, and you smile at him. For a beat, neither of you say anything.

Well, this is going great.

“He didn't hit you too hard, right?” You break the silence, and Red Robin gives you a questioning frown. You gesture up to your own forehead, around the area you saw him get hit.

“Oh, that,” he mirrors your action, offering a small smile. “Nothing I can't handle, barely even noticed it.” He waves off your concern.

You nod, accepting that answer. “Were you the one who was chasing those guys?” You ask, and you want to smack yourself for the stupid question. Obviously he was the one chasing them.

“Hm? Oh,” he blinks down at the unconscious thugs, “yeah that was me.” He confirms. “They mention me?”

“Not by name. They just said they were being chased.” You watch as he grabs a bag off one of the thugs.

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, “yeah that was me.” He’s not really facing you, but you can tell he’s smiling.

You purse your lips, unsure how to proceed with the conversation. Do you just leave? As you look over the scene, you notice something glint out of the corner of your eyes. You turn to Red Robin, but he isn’t looking at you. Hesitantly you approach the object, and you crouch down to look at it. It’s one of those Bat-shaped objects that the Bats carry on them.

Carefully, as if it's fragile, you pick it up. You’re surprised at first. It’s heavier than you expected, but you suppose that makes sense. To be able to do damage, it’d have to have some weight for something so small.

“You want to keep it?”

You jump as Red Robin’s voice suddenly appears right next to you. He raises his hands up, and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No worries.” You offer him a small smile before returning your gaze to the object. “Don’t you guys need these things?” You wave it up.

He shrugs, and the action is so normal that you want to laugh. “Batarangs?” Huh, that’s what they’re called. He waves a casual hand at you, “We have plenty. Plus, we lose them all the time. You can keep it.”

Your mouth parts, and you’re about to open your mouth when he adds on. “Consider it a souvenir.” He grins looking down for a second before reaching to rub his back, meeting your eyes again as he massages himself. You watch as his eyes flicker over your form, looking up and down.

You freeze.

Not because of the Batarang, but because of the actions.

He chuckles at your appalled expression. “I mean you don’t—” he abruptly stops speaking before letting out a deep sigh.

His sigh only causes your jaw to drop even more, yet he doesn’t notice. He mouths a quiet “Sorry” before turning away from you, speaking to whoever is calling him.

You aren’t sure what he is talking about or even who he is talking to, but you’re hit with what may be the most insane conclusion you’ve ever reached (even more insane than Tim attempting to catfish you).

You steel yourself before turning your full attention to Red Robin. He’s restless, shifting on his feet in a way that tells you that he’d rather be pacing at the moment.

There’s no way your hypothesis is correct.

Red Robin sighs again, and you see him place his hands over his mask. You narrow your eyes at the action.

It’d make sense though.

You’re willing to chalk up a few shared mannerisms to just basic human traits. A couple makes sense, that’s normal. Now if you add the fact that Tim has been the best photographer for the vigilantes you’ve ever seen?

That’s a little more suspicious.

Then if you add on the fact that he has confirmed that he’s conversed with Robin in the past?

Your eyes are locked onto Red Robin, and he must feel your piercing gaze because he turns towards you. He seems to be taken aback by your blatant staring, but you can’t even help yourself because how else do you process this? He tilts his head, and you offer a strained smile in apology before averting your gaze.

The reason he couldn’t post the photos was because the vigilantes asked him not to.

The reason he could take the photos wasn’t because he had insane luck.

You watch as Red Robin shifts on his feet once again, before tilting his head up to the sky in an exasperated motion. The action uncannily familiar.

Holy shit.

You don’t a chance to process the revelation because the reason Red Robin was looking up quickly becomes evident. You jump back as Nightwing lands casually behind Red Robin and in front of you.

He turns to face you and for a moment he looks startled by your presence before he smirks. “Ahhh, I get it now.” Nightwing grins as Red Robin slowly turns to face him. “Real important stuff to handle, huh?”

“Can you not—” You watch as Red Robin furtively glances between you and Nightwing. “I did handle stuff.” He gestures down to the unconscious bodies below, "As you can see.”

Nightwing nods, “Yuh-huh,” he places his hands on his hips as he turns around to look at the entire scene. “I’m sorry, Miss. Is this guy bothering you?” Nightwing gives you a shit-eating grin, and yup.

If you didn’t know that Red Robin is Tim before, you certainly know now. Dick looks nearly the exact same, and for a moment you ponder how people have never connected him with Nightwing, especially with the devious grin he is giving you now.

“I am not bothering her! I just sav—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Nightwing raises his finger and shushes him softly, and you have to look away in order to avoid laughing. “Let her speak for herself.” Nightwing gestures to you in a slight bow.

Yeah, Tim. You snort as Red Robin takes a deep breath in order to calm himself. You offer a small grin to Red Robin, and he keeps his gaze trained on you, “He wasn’t a bother. He saved me from these guys. In fact—” you raise the Batarang up, “—he gave me a souvenir.” You grin at Dick.

He lets out a surprised bark of laughter before turning to Tim, who refuses to look at either of you. You think you can hear Tim mutter “Oh my God.”

“Aw, givin' out gifts to civilians now?” Dick teases Tim.

Tim groans, and you think you can see him turning red. You feel a little bad for embarrassing him in front of his brothers, but this reaction makes it all worth it. “I’m leaving.” He declares before launching his grappling hook up to the railing at the roof above you. He gives you one last look, a minuscule nod, before leaving.

You and Dick watch as he leaves before he turns back to you. “You are actually okay though, right?” He reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders before stopping and awkwardly putting them down.

You smile at Dick, nodding. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

He nods, “Well, get home safely. I’ll handle these guys.” He gestures his thumb down to the thugs on the ground. As if on cue, one of them begins to groan as they wake up. “You might wanna stay down, bud.” He gives you one last glance before winking and turning back to the thugs on the ground.

You watch him for a moment before walking out of the alley and waving down a taxi. You tell him your apartment complex, and look out the window. You rest your head on the window as you watch Gotham pass by you. You feel yourself truly relax for the first time in an hour before immediately stiffening.

How the hell are you going to tell Tim?

The day of the dinner arrives sooner than you’d like.

You are no closer to figuring out how to tell Tim that you know. You debated just texting him, but quickly threw that suggestion in the trash. Bad idea, terrible idea.

You pace your living room back and forth, trying to calm yourself. It’s not even dinner you’re worried about. What if you act oddly? Tim will definitely figure it out if you are fidgeting every five seconds. You must act normally, that can’t be too difficult? Just don’t think about it. It’s not like Red Robin or even Nightwing will come up in conversation with his family, right? That’s not really a dinner table topic.

Yeah.

You’ll be fine.

Just act normal—

Tim: I’m here

You swallow as you grab your items, giving your apartment one last look over, before exiting. You find Tim waiting in the parking lot, and you make eye contact through the windshield. He raises a hand, giving you a small smile, his other hand is lazily tapping the steering wheel.

“Thank you again for doing this.” Tim smiles gratefully at you as you step into the passenger seat. You attempt to smile back at him. You observe the interior of his car.

Hm. Red. Interesting. Almost like Red Robin—

You chuckle, more out of nerves than any actual amusement, “Yeah, no problem."

He pauses, giving you a long look before laughing softly. “Don’t be nervous. It’s relatively painless, and Alfred is making your favorite.”

You smile at the thought, “How’d you convince him to do that?”

Tim smacks his lips, “Let’s just say that my dignity isn’t in tact anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t have much of that?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to give you a decidedly unimpressed expression. You return it with a smile, “I mean you practically had to beg me to show up with you—”

“Woah, okay.” His eyebrows shoot up, “First off, that wasn’t begging—”

You pull out your phone, “— ‘I'd literally get on my knees and beg if I could’” You recite his words to him, reading the text directly. When you look up, his face is a light red. You try and catch his eyes, but he is stubbornly refusing to meet your own, instead focusing on the road. “Sound familiar to you?”

He remains silent for a bit. “I— Uh— Well, no. I never heard that before.”

“Mhm, sure.” You lean your elbow against the side of the car, propping your face up. His eyes flicker over to you, and he somehow gets more red. He looks you up and down for a brief moment, and while Tim usually does that, you did notice that Red Robin also—

Nope. Do not think about your best friend’s alternate vigilante identity while in the car with him. Stay focused.

The remainder of the ride is filled with light banter, your teasing provides a reprieve from your thoughts. It’s not long before you both pull up. “Master Tim.” Alfred greets Tim before turning to you and greeting you in similar fashion. “A little birdie told me to put your favorite on the menu for tonight.” Alfred offers a small smile, and both you and Tim stiffen.

Oh. Bird puns.

Yeah, Alfred definitely knows.

“Aw, thank you, Alfred. I think the little birdie knew I wouldn’t have come otherwise.” You nudge Tim teasingly. For a moment, he doesn’t react and you wonder if he’s even breathing. “Right, birdie?” You lightly nudge Tim again.

“Yeah, uh— mhm?” You frown at the reaction. Tim shifts on his feet, and waves you off casually. “Sorry, just uh— dinner, you know? Got me stressed?”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him slightly, “Right,” you turn back to Alfred, “Thanks again, Alfred.” You grin at him.

“My pleasure, Miss.” He inclines his head to you, “Now, if you’re ready to greet the others.” He turns around, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you and Tim are following.

“Look who finally showed his face— Oh,” Steph abruptly cuts herself off.

“Hello to you too.” You respond dryly, taking a seat at the table.

Steph grins at you, “Hello!” She greet you before glaring at Tim. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Yep.” Tim replies dryly. He takes the seat across you, he offers you a small smirk.

“And you know we can’t do anything about it.” She huffs, shaking her head disapprovingly.

You nod solemnly, “I was informed that I was bait.”

Dick chokes on his water, “You told her that?”

“I did not tell her that.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you, raising his hands in surrender. “She reached that conclusion on her own.”

“Is that all you told her?” Duke asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks between you both.

“Yes.” Tim nearly hisses, eyes wide as if saying “Not one more word.” He clears his throat, sparing you a quick glance, and releases a long sigh, “Is Bruce here, yet?”

“You’re attempts to change the topic at hand are futile.” Damian looks between you and Tim, evidently bored.

Dick frowns at Tim before sighing, “No… He had some last minute business to take care of. He’ll be a little late.”

“Perfect.” Tim abruptly stands up, and your mouth parts, taken aback. “It’s getting kind of hot in here. I think I need a minute. I— Uh— Do you wanna head up for a bit until Bruce shows up?” Tim turns to you.

You furrow your eyebrows, if he needs a minute, why is he asking you to come with him?

“Sure?” Tim is already walking around the long dining table, he raises his hand to gently guide you away from everybody before you get a chance to say anything else. “Isn’t this rude?” You whisper to him, his hand is still guiding your back.

“Not with them. That kind of rude doesn’t count.” Tim huffs, and you two begin the familiar trek to his room.

You release an amused huff, “For you. What if they think I’m rude or something?”

Tim spares a glance at you, as if the idea you presented is absurd. “They’ll just blame it on me.” He shrugs. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it later.” He rubs your shoulder casually, offering you a smile that tells you he’s used to this.

You furrow your eyebrows in concern, “If you say so…” You trail off, hesitant. He gestures for you to enter his room. The space is familiar. You’ve been here many times in the past. However, never had you known that Tim is Red Robin during those times. Your eyes survey the room in front of you. Nothing is different about it (why did you expect there to be anything different?). You slowly make your way over to his desk, a few pieces of scrap paper lay on it. Nothing incriminating. You frown looking over the contents of the paper.

Tim appears at your side, “You okay?” He asks, following your gaze to the paper.

You nod, turning to him, “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” You pace the room for a beat before planting yourself onto his bed, something you’ve done a million times before.

He looks you up and down, and you resist stiffening under his scrutiny. He must’ve found something because he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then slowly walks over to you. “I… Sorry, was asking you to come for dinner too much?” He sits down next to you, and his gaze falls down to your hand on his comforter.

You blink, looking off to the side before returning your attention to him. “No, no, it’s fine.” You shake your head, “It’s not something I haven’t done before.” You shrug, attempting to offer him a reassuring smile.

Tim’s frown doesn’t change. “You don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to… I know I was kinda joking about needing you here, but if there’s something—”

“Tim, there’s nothing wrong. What gave you that impression?” You feel your heart race. Does he know that you know?

He meets your eyes, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and his eyes trail down to your shoulders. “I… You just seem—” his eyes look off at something off to the side, “—distracted, is all.” Your lips part, and his gaze returns to you. “You don’t have to say anything. This isn’t me trying to pressure you into telling me if something is up.” He rambles, shaking his head.

You heave a sigh, “It’s— I don’t think you want to know, Tim.”

Perhaps that’s the wrong thing to say to a detective because Tim— despite his attempts to be sympathetic— also has that spark of curiosity in his eyes. He trains his eyes on you, as if expecting to you to continue. When you don’t, he hesitantly responds: “If— and again, this is not me pressuring you— If it helps you get something off your chest, then I will always be here to listen.”

You swallow, looking toward Tim, “That’s… Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate that.” He nods, offering you a smile, and slowly inching his hand closer to yours. You pretend not to notice. “Are you sure you want to hear what I want to say?” You whisper softly to him, smiling nervously.

He blinks, “If that’s what you wish,” he changes his focus from your hand to your face, “then yes.” He gives you a disarming smile.

Your smile grows, “This is your last chance, Tim.”

His eyes lighten up, “Well,” he chuckles, “I’m not planning on changing my mind.”

You smile, leaning closer, and Tim mirrors the action whether he knows it or not. His chest rises and falls, slow, and you look into his eyes. The blue diminishing by the second as its replaced by the growing size of his pupil.

“Do you remember the other night?” You keep the same quiet tone, the words are meant for him— and him alone.

Tim’s eyebrows raise, evidently not expecting that, “What?” His words are breathless, but still ring of confusion.

“I just… I appreciate you helping me out.” You smile at him, watching as he processes the information.

“Yeah…” He slowly nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, that… It’s no issue it all. I…” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes are turned away from you. His eyes gloss over the ground. He must remember that you’re watching because he suddenly turns to look at you tight-lipped smile. “Yeah...” he trails off, “Could you remind me exactly what I helped you with?”

You chuckle at his attempts to play it off— and failing. “Oh, come on, Tim.” You tilt your head at him, “You remember. You gave me the souvenir.”

You can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body.

He doesn’t instantly react. Instead he stares at you (or, more accurately, through you) unblinking. At his lack of a functioning reaction, you worry that maybe this wasn’t the best idea to go about this. After all you still have to sit through dinner after this. You aren’t even sure if he’s breathing when his smile strains in a way that almost looks painful.

“What?” His voice is quiet, as if incapable of mustering up any more volume.

Your purse your lips, taking a deep breath. You don’t get a chance to respond because he continues. “I… I haven’t given you anything— I think I’d remember if I gave you a souvenir.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “You might be thinking of somebody else?”

You sigh, slowly reaching your hand up to his chin. Tim immediately stiffens at the contact, as if afraid him moving would deter you. A small smirk grows on your face when you realize how red Tim is at your touch. Gently, you move a few strands of hair out of his face, and he doesn’t stop you. They were covering up a specific spot, and while it appears Tim did try to cover up the bruise he received from the other night, he did not do a clean enough job.

“That’s,” he swallows, “That’s uh— I fell off my skateboard.” He doesn’t attempt to move your hands away from his face.

“Mhm,” you hum disbelievingly, “in the same spot Red Robin got hit, right? You two skateboard together?” You tease lightly.

“Well, I—” he clears his throat, leaning away from you, and you don’t try to stop him. “I… think?” He presses his hands onto his face, shielding his face from your view.

You frown, amusement evident in your tone. “You don’t know?”

He shifts his hands slightly, peaking through his fingers to look at you on his side. “I… You know, maybe you were right that I didn’t want to know.”

You let out an startled puff of air, “Oh,” you begin slowly, “now you heed my warnings?”

He avoids your eyes, smacking his lips. “Okay, fine, but how did you figure it out?” He asks, resting elbow on his knee. He props his head up, rubbing his forehead as if to remove tension.

“You share mannerisms with Red Robin.” He squeezes his eyes shut at the mention of his alter ego.

His jaw drops. “There’s no way you figured me out just because I acted kinda similar. I had a voice modulator!” He whisper-yells.

You nod, “Well, yeah, initially it was just suspicion. Then Dick showed up.” You watch as Tim mouths the words “Oh my God.” You smile sympathetically at Tim, “Yeah, I don’t know how anybody who looks at Nightwing for longer than a minute doesn’t put two and two together.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s Dick’s fault.” Tim furrows his eyebrows at you. His hands aren’t covering his face anymore.

You frown, “You sent me photos of yourself.” Tim instantly gives you a look of horror, and you watch as he begins to turn red again. “Uh— I mean you were posing for the camera as Red Robin.” You elaborate, and Tim looks no less embarrassed.

“Okay,” he holds a finger up, adjusting his position on the bed next to you. “I did not pose for the camera. I just took a photo of whatever I was doing at the moment.” He grumbles.

You nod, “Modeling, apparently.” You quietly respond, at his glare you smile back at him. “I kept the Batarang by the way. It’s sitting in my room.” His glare softens at that, and he looks at you for a beat before flopping onto his back. The action causes the bed to jostle a little bit. You follow suit, turning to face him. “I wasn’t gonna tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He turns to face you, and the two of you are inches apart, “That wasn’t my worry. It never was.” He whispers back.

You use your arm as a pillow as he continues to stare at you, “Then what is?”

He doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does his words are soft. “I didn’t want you involved in this.” He begins. “I… I don’t want you getting hurt because you know me.”

You let out a long exhale, “Tim,” you start, reaching for his hand, “if I didn’t want to be involved, I would’ve stopped the moment you started ‘chasing after vigilantes’ for photos.” You chuckle as he sheepishly looks away at the mention of his escapades. “I like being around you, Tim. That doesn’t change just because you go out as Red Robin every night.”

He swallows, squeezing your hand, “I… I like you—” He hastily cuts himself off, “—I like being around you too.” He smiles at you, and you feel better seeing that familiar spark in his eyes. “I… You’re not mad or anything right?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “That you like me?”

Instantly, that spark is replaced by pure unadulterated horror. He sits, startling you, “No! I meant the—” at your laughter, the tension leaves his body, and he releases a soft puff of air before slowly settling next to you again. “You know what I meant.” He scoffs, but it appears more endearing than anything.

You chuckle, smiling at him, “I’m not upset, Tim. If anything it makes sense. I was wondering how you always had such clear photos of the vigilantes. Oh— Terrible way to hide your identity by the way, going around and taking selfies of yourself.” You watch as he lightly glares at you before settling down closer than he was before. “And your terrible sleeping schedule makes sense now.”

He smacks his lips, “Okay, but I have an excuse. You—” he lightly points an accusing finger at you, “— do not.”

You grin, grabbing his hand, pressing it against the soft mattress of his bed. You adjust your position, ready to defend yourself, “Oh, really—”

“Father is here. He requests your presence—” Both you and Tim jolt as if caught doing something illegal before turning to look at Damian. To nobody’s surprise, he looks wildly unimpressed (and perhaps a little disgusted) by you both.

“Damian, can’t you knock?” Tim groans, brushing off imaginary dust off himself.

Damian’s eyes linger on your hand laid casually over Tim’s. Slowly, you remove it, and Tim frowns down at his lone hand. “I did knock. I took your lack of response as permission for entry.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works… like at all.” Tim stands up, and you follow suit.

Damian eyes you both accusingly then huffs. He whips around before shutting the door behind him, leaving you and Tim there standing awkwardly.

“We… We better get down there. He’s going to tell everybody.” Tim looks over to you, eyebrows creased in worry imagining what might be conversed at the dinner table. You nod solemnly, that would not be ideal.

“Lead the way, Birdie.” You walk up to his side, and Tim freezes at the nickname. You release a loud laugh at the reaction.

“You’re lucky I don’t have time to address that.” He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smirk on his face.

“Aw, I knew you like me.” You grin, nudging your hand against his own.

He lets out a long sigh, and his smile turns soft. “Yeah,” he swallows, “I do.” He clasps your arm, and you give him a blinding grin.

A/N: Maybe I should just start up a collection of “civilian reader scaring the shit out of her boyfriend after figuring out he’s a vigilante but being unsure how to tell him so she goes about it in the most stressful way possible for him.” We’re going 2 for 2 and I absolutely LOVE this trope. Anyway, sorry this took a while! I have one more final then I’m FREE! I absolutely LOVED this idea, and I really hope I did it justice. Online friend!Tim Drake has so much potential and it’s definitely an idea I wouldn’t mind revisiting in the future. As always, feel free to let me know about any major errors :)! Funny thing, I actually had to write some small headcannons for myself of some random traits I think Tim would have so that Reader could inevitably realize Tim = Red Robin. If you guys wanna see that let me know, they aren’t very long, but you might notice a few things if you go back and reread it :)!

The door was slightly ajar and your father stood idly inside on the phone still wearing his favourite charcoal grey pinstripe suit.

"Right," He nods against the screen. "and you promise protection for my family?...wonderful...she's 12..." Was he talking about you? "perfect, and your son is suitable?...lovely, we'll set the date for next week, my property." He laughed loudly without heart. "It shall be a union for the ages!"

Your heart stopped. Union? Date?

Wedding.

That's the conclusion you came to. It was the most likely, though you prayed it to be anything else. But no, he was marrying you off. It was something you had only read about in history books about poor girls with no autonomy and strings attatched to every piece of them, but now it was happening to you.

You couldn't bear it. You bounded to your room, your rockruff waking up from it's bed at the commotion. The clueless pup watched as you stuffed money, medicine, and clothes into a backpack. You quickly change your slippers for the first decent shoe you could find before forcing open your window.

You called Rockruff to go ahead of you which she did without hesitation, landing on her feet in the manicured lawn below. You followed suit, backpack haphazardly slung over your shoulder as you dashed through the grass. You headed for the back gate that exited directly into the woods, thinking you could hide for cover better amongst the trees. You gently pushed the wrought iron gates, eliciting a loud creak that set off the intruder alarms.

The sirens howled through the night and so did your rockruff as she tried to match the tone.

"Hush." You quietly command before taking off, the rockruff giving chase. You run without aim and no sign of stopping until you are forced by the feeling of salt water around your ankles. You look up and see the pitch black ocean painted with streaks of moonlight. Pure dark bliss that radiated serenity. Serenity you could not afford in this moment.

Shouts and orders rang in the distance as torch light came faintly into view. Your feet acted before you could even comprehend what was happening, taking you along the beach. The shouts got closer as they spot you.

"MISS Y/N! GET BACK HERE!" The head guard yells, running after you. You sprinted at an almost inhuman pace. It was tunnel vision. You had no objective but to just go. You don't know how, maybe divine intervention, but you turned your head to the left to see a small cave opening that you and Rockruff could squeeze through. With no other option, you shot off the side of your right foot and made a beeline for the cave. Rockruff had no trouble going through the gap as you scrambled on your hands and knees. You entered the cave mouth, knowing the guards and their pokemon were too large to catch up with you.

You felt your lungs crushing as you crawled through the tight space. The width of the tunnel seemed to be closing as your arms and knees, now scraped, bruised, and bleeding began to weaken. Soon, Rockruff's fluffy tail was out of your face as you crawled into a larger open space, roof covered in dripping stalactites that echoed with every drip. You didn't know where to go but to just camp out, get some rest and hopefully find a way out in the morning. You and Rockruff found yourselves a corner free of wet rock. You settled down with Rockruff curled against your chest.

About five minutes into your slumber, you heard the tippy tap of dozens of sets of feet amplified by the cave walls. You resisted opening your eyes, fearing whatever creepy crawly it might be. It was only when Rockruff began snarling that you peaked one eye open, seeing an ocean of wimpod.

You

Hated

Bug types

You screeched at the sight of them, your hands, fingers and toes being infected with an uncomfortable tingle as they inched closer towards you.

"GO AWAY!" You yelled, being startled by your own voice in the echo chamber. The wimpod hesitated for a second before scuttling closer.

"They'll go away when you tell them what you're doin' in my cave." A boy, no older than you with white hair but somehow a black undercut stood in the middle of them like a king, shining a torch in your face.

"Y-your cave?" You blocked the light with your arm.

"Yeah! I run this joint!"

You looked around at the place, arm falling back to hold onto Rockruff as the torch was removed from your eyes.

"...what exactly is there to run?" You ask quietly, still clinging to Rockruff.

"I-!" The boy looked offended. "You're being disrespectful!"

"I'm sorry!" Your voice was weak. Every part of you was weak and he noticed that. His tough boy demeanour dropped.

"Are you okay?" His pubescent voice squeaked out.

"No..." You shook your head, tears finally breaking the surface and flowing down your cheeks.

"Oh! Shit- uh...hey! Don't cry uh..." He looks around frantically before scooping up a wimpod and holding out to you, facing you directly with all its wiggly legs. "Wimpod!"

You let out a terrified scream and he put the bug type down, swearing under his breath.

"Shit. I uh-....I'm sorry...girlie I ain't good at this but uhh...I guess I can just...listen?" You nodded and wiped one of your eyes. He shooed off the wimpod and took a seat next to you. "I'm guessing someone like you..." he flicks the fabric of your now soiled nightgown. "fancy ass p'jamas, is a little far from home."

"I ran away..." You managed to squeak out. "My dad...he was going to marry me off and so I just took what I could and ran and now I'm all alone I'm stuck in a cave I have nothing, nowhere to go to and no future!" You got out while sobbing frantically.

The boy's heart bled for you. He himself had no future.

"I'm...sorry. That shit sounds...horrible.?"

"I know and..." You shook your head and buried it between your knees, sobbing, as Rockruff nuzzled her nose against you. "I just don't know what to do..."

The boy hesitated in placing a hand on your back.

"I uh...I got a place."

"You do?" You sniffed.

"Yeah it's nothing fancy like what you're used to but it's big enough for the two of us." He pushed himself up and held his hand out to you. "Guzma."

You took his hand and he helped you up.

"Y/n."

"This way." You followed him, rockruff still in your arms. The light of Guzma's torch led you out of the cave, exiting into the woods. "It's not far."

He led you to a large tree that had the inside carved out by...something.

"This is your place?"

"Yep! Pretty great isn't it?"

"I'm pretty sure this is a gumshoos burrow."

He gave you a dead look.

"Well it's my burrow now."

"...ok." You shrugged and climbed into the tree after Guzma. It was a pretty tight fit, only just big enough for the both of you.

"Your hound got a pokeball?" He asked you, pointing to Rockruff.

"Shit..." You muttered and then reeling back. You never swore. Guess this boy was a bad influence, then again you did just run away from your family and are being hunted down.

"Shit? What's "shit"?"

"I forgot to grab her pokeball, it's still in my room."

"K so we'll go get them."

"What?" You quickly whipped around to him.

"We'll break into your room and get them back."

"I'm still being hunted down every guard on the island is searching for me."

"Oh shit you're like rich rich," Guzma thought for a moment. "We'll go in the morning."

"Ok and for whatever reason I should along with this plan, what happens when we get caught."

"Don't be such a worry Princess," He bent his fingers back to crack them. "I've dabbled in some crime in my lifetime."

"You're 12."

"12 and a half thank you."

"Right, 12 and a half but my father's security system is unlike anything else."

"And you know it?"

"Vaguely but-"

He cut you off.

"Great! Then you're helping me!" He lay down on the lumpy carved out bark. "We ride at dawn!" He announced before turning away from you.

"Ok...Good night Guz-" You heard loud snoring from next to you, now seeing that he was already fast asleep.

...

You did not get any sleep that night, instead, tossing and turning against the bark. You ended up pulling a spare shirt out of your bag and using it as a blanket.

"Rise and shine!" Guzma announced. "It's go time!"

Rockruff sprung up with a yelp.

"Huh?" You yawned.

"We got a mansion to rob!"

You managed to grab your bag before Guzma dragged you into the wilderness.

"Wait I don't even know where we are!" You said, trying to decipher where to go.

"You don't?"

"No! You dragged me into the middle of the woods and I barely slept in a tree! So I'm sorry that I don't know where I'm going!" You didn't know you could be so angry when you were tired cause you never really had trouble falling asleep. This was new to you.

In a stroke of genius, you pull out a fresh shirt from your bag and crouch down to Rockruff for her to sniff it.

"This shirt hasn't left my bag since I left the house, it should still smell like it."

"And that works how?"

"...I use a lot of air freshener." You replied sheepishly. Rockruff barked and took off in one direction. "Wait! Rockruff wait up!" You both chased after her. The trees became sparser as the cobblestone walls came into view. Guzma let out a low whistle at the sight of the expansive house.

"Damn." The sun began to peek out from the horizon. "Shit, lets go before sun up."

You darted for the back gate and took out a bobby pin from your hair that you had the night before. You bent it into a strange shape before sticking it into the padlock and wiggling it around. The lock opened with a soft click and Guzma looked halfway impressed.

"What?" You asked, now making eye contact with him. "How do you think I got out in the first place?"

You push the gate open and the both of you dart through the yard to the back door.

"So, anything in particular you want to snatch up?"

You thought for a moment. You needed your pokeballs, you needed some more clothes, a little more money wouldn't hurt. That's when it occurred to you.

"...my sewing machine." Guzma gave you a wide eyed look.

"Are you stupid?!" He whisper yelled. "How the Hell am I supposed to quickly and swiftly steal that?!"

"It's in a case!" You whisper yelled back.

"Ok! Ok fine, whatever."

You snuck through the silent house, eventually finding your bedroom door.

"Snatch up everything you think we'll need, that includes anything of value that we could sell for extra cash."

He nodded and ducked into your room.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back. I have some bags in my closet."

He nodded and closed your bedroom door. Guzma walked around your bedroom with Rockruff trotting behind him, taking in how extremely large it was. He managed to find your closet which was still bigger than his childhood bedroom. After digging around for a big, he found some relatively large bags and began scouring for things to sell and other essentials. Mainly expensive jewellery and little ornaments around the room. Your sewing machine sat in the corner of your room in a little wheely case, making his life a whole lot easier.

...

You walked the halls of your former home, finding your father's bedroom. You knew he wouldn't be sleeping in there considering he crashed in his study most of the time. You pushed the door open and darted towards his closet. His closet was just as big as yours considering he used to share it with you mother, now one half was bare and barren while the other was compacted with dull yet crisp suits.

You rifled through them like the pages of a book, eventually finding the one you were looking for. The charcoal gray with pinstripes. The one he was wearing when he made that phone call. You took it off it's rack and your eyes drifted to his luxury ball collection that sat atop shelves in the closet. You did need pokeballs. You swiped a briefcase and neatly folded the suit into it before grabbing all the luxury balls and shrinking them, shoving them into the case before clasping it shut and darting back to your room.

Guzma had tried his best to fit everything in the bags which were now bulging at the zippers.

"Got what you need?" He asked.

"Yeah." You looked towards the window. sunlight starting to peek through the chiffon curtains. "Let's get out of here." Guzma forced the window open and threw one of the bags over his shoulder. He let Rockruff jump through first

"Throw 'em down to me." He said to which you nodded, grabbing your sewing machine case and gently passing it down to him. "I said throw!" He quietly yelled up.

"It's too heavy to catch." There wasn't enough time to argue with him so you grabbed a couple more bags and threw them out the window. just as you were about to throw the last bag, you heard yelling and footsteps approaching your door.

You froze, legs planted into the marble as the door was thrown open. Your father stood there in the doorway, disheveled, tired, looking at you with anger and horror with guards behind him. You're breathing slowed as you made eye contact with him. In that moment you succumbed to what you were, a scared little girl. Your eyes were wide and your face had paled. You were almost inclined to let him catch you, then you remembered what awaited you if you did.

You gaze hardened at him as you turned and jumped out the window. You'd only marry someone chosen for you over his grave. Guzma caught you before you touched the ground, not that you needed him to but he did anyway. You both darted towards the gate, Rockruff sprinting ahead of you and bags in arms.

The woods were as dense as ever yet more familiar now. Once you were a safe distance, you stopped, putting your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Guzma huffed, air filling his lungs again, before his laughed breathlessly.

"Holy shit!" He ran his fingers through his hair. "We just did that!"

You followed soon after, letting out breathless laughs.

"I know!" You shot up, feeling excited electricity in your arms and hands. "I feel so alive! Is this what freedom feels like?!'

"You know it Princess!" He held up both his palms and you slapped them with your own. "So, where to now?"

"What if we get a ferry to another island?" You suggested. "Everyone on Mele Mele's gonna be looking for me."

"You're damn right about that."

...

And now here you were, standing on the bow of a ferry bound for Ula Ula island. You didn't know where you were gonna go but you were certain it'd be better than your old home.

The ferry docked and you both ran off the jetty, Rockruff at your feet. You explored the island, trying to find a nice pokemon burrow to hijack when you came across an abandoned town. Everything seemed in good condition, it even had a functioning pokemon centre but with no staff to take care of it.

"This place is insane!" You exclaimed, turning to walk backwards down the main road.

"Yeah! Check it out!" At the end of the road was a huge abandoned manor, not as big as your childhood home but still massive.

"Woah!" You both made it to the front doors, using all your strength to push them open. The interior was dusty and kinda gross but nothing two twelve year olds couldn't fix. "This is amazing!"

"I know! We can really build a life here."

Your fingers grazed along the cracking wallpaper.

"What if it wasn't just us?" You suggested and Guzma looked at you with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean kids like us, told they have no future," You gestured towards him then to yourself. "runaways. They all deserve a place don't they? So, why don't we give them one?"

Guzma smiled.

"I like the way you think Princess. Let's do it."

...

The next few years were anything but chill as you refurbished the manor. You managed to pick up a few new recruits, year 1 you found Plumeria, a trailer park girl with deadbeat parents. She ended up becoming your best friend. Soon, you had dozens of people helping out, all "hopeless cases". The place you had now named Po Town was thriving with outcasts and misfits alike. The houses had been refurbished and finally, FINALLY, you had electricity.

You remember you were 16 when the first lightbulb turned on. Now that you had electricity, you could do what you always needed to do with that suit you snatched from your dad.

You set up your sewing machine on a table before plugging it into the wall. After threading black thread through the machine and bobbin, you switched it on and began feeding the suit through the foot.

After hours of work, it was done, a newly tailored fuck you to your father.

"Hey Guzma!" You called out. There had been some unspoken and unaddressed tension between you for some time now. You didn't know if it was just awkwardness or something else but whatever it was it did something to you. The moment he heard his name leave your lips, he was there.

"Ya?"

He had found this god awful half sleeved jacket at a thrift store with white zigzags down the sides and now decided it was his favourite thing ever. Well...second favourite thing.

"I did it!"

"You did!?"

"Yep!"

"Well go put it on! I wanna see how it looks on you-" He flushed and cleared his throat. "I wanna see all your hard work."

You ducked into a separate room and slipped on the outfit, the blazer was tailored to fit your curves perfectly and the slacks were cut to make a mini skirt that fell at your mid thigh. The leftover fabric was fashioned into a hair bow that you used to secure your hair half up. You wanted him to see the outfit, more than anyone. Not only had he been with you since the night you ran away, he had also seen you at your worst and watched you grow into your best. You wanted him to see everything come full circle. You wanted him.

Guzma was getting inpatient. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been in love with you since the moment you picked the lock into your own house. He desperately wanted to see that beautiful body of yours in such a spiteful outfit. Your Rockruff was still yet to evolve and was as clingy as ever. She bounded over to Guzma, not having seen him for a good 10 minutes and jumping up on him, paws pressed against his stomach as her tail wagged.

"Hey mutt," He scratched behind her ears. "waiting for her too huh?" Rockruff yipped, licking his wrist. "Gross dude!"

The door to the other room clicked open as you stepped out. You stood in front of the boy, holding your arms out and giving a slow turn.

"So? What do you think?"

His heart stopped. Every part of him screamed except his mouth and his lungs dried up and heat rushed to his face. He couldn't help himself. He quickly but gently pushed Rockruff off him and strode over to you. It one swift motion, he cupped your face with his hands and firmly pressed his lips against yours, eyes clamped shut.

Your eyes blew wide for a moment, processing what was going on until you melted. It was a harsh and rather bad kiss but it felt so right. It was rather stagnant, no movement from either of you, not really sure how this works. You came up for air a few moments later, his hands still on your cheeks, thumbs now gently grazing against your hot face.

"Perfect." He breathed out. "Absolutely perfect."

"How long?" You managed to squeak out.

"Since that first morning, when we broke into your house. You?"

"Not long after." A laugh followed. "Gosh we really are idiots huh?" You laughed again. "I mean why'd it take so long for us to figure it out?"

"No idea Boo, but we're here now." He brought you into a softer, more well thought out kiss. Your lips moved against his in delicious tandem as your hands hooked onto his arms.

A/N:

Starts off with a little plot building and then you get to see ya boyyy!!! (for like 2 seconds) I promise chapter 3 will come out a lot faster so we can get to more Guzma content!

Also doing a thing to make sure you know what island characters are on so things aren’t confusing.

H/C = whatever your hair color is!

Throw back to the last chapter: After arriving in Alola to study abroad, a Litten steals your meal and drags you into the forest. You run into some guy and the least you can say, it was an interesting interaction. Now you’re hungry and believe your Pokémon can benefit from trying Alola’s regional food as well.

Melemele Island:

You make your way to the nearest market district before letting out all your Pokémon. All of came out chirping with excitement. Gardevoir twirls, Lurantis dances, and Smeargle waves his tail around. “Hey you guys!” Making sure to give each of them a tender pat. “Lets go get you guys some food, yeah?”

The sweet scent of malasadas enter your nostrils. “Don’t those smell delicious?” You looked towards the lady at the stall with striking pink hair. “Could I get a dozen malasadas please?”

“A dozen malasadas coming right up.” She groaned while grabbing tongs.

“Your hair is stunning!” You always made sure when you thought something nice of someone, you make sure to say it.

“Ah! Thank you.” Her chest rising. “I know it’s really amazing and I’m just –”

“Sorry about that...” A man with a lame voice and a blue bob came up with your order. “She tends to do that.” She continues boasting about herself behind him. “That’ll be 2,400 Poke dollars.”

“Haha no worries. I love seeing people feel good about themselves.” Passing the money over in exchange for the box of malasadas.

Biting through the crispy exterior allowed a thick custard to coat your tongue in a warm sweetness. Smeargle was jumping for joy feeling the sweetness on his tastes buds as well. All that jumping caused his paint like fluid to splatter from his tail and splashing onto the box. You chuckled understanding his excitement but would appreciate if his bodily fluids didn’t cover your freshly made malasadas. “Hey buddy you need to –”

Before you could finish your sentence a shout came from a fruit stall near by. “Please don’t hurt me! Take whatever you need just don’t hurt us!” The voice was definitely an elderly woman. You can hear the weakness in her voice. She was standing behind a small frail Litten with an attitude.

“Salandit keep em cornered; Rapp, Zipp, get as much fruit as you can. Let’s make the boss proud.” Ordered the blue haired delinquent. His outfit looks eerily similar to Guzma’s... The skull chain really gave it away, though he didn’t wear a jacket like Guzma.

You couldn’t just stand there and let them take advantage of an elderly woman. “Gardevoir, use charm!” She sent a kiss Salandit’s way, lowering its attack.

“Hey what do you think you’re doing?” A delinquent with curly puffy hair pointed you out.

A delinquent with frayed white shorts, and pink hair butted in. “Awwh!!! A cutie wutie Gardi wardi!! Tupp I’ve gotta have it!!” She face the blue haired one. He must be Tupp.

“Alright, alright. You’ll have it in no time. Make sure you guys have everything secured. It’s time to teach this chick what she got herself into.” His partners in crime stuffed garbage bags with any fruits in their reach. “Salandit, use acid spray!” Salandit creates toxic droplets that flew at Gardevoir.

“Gardevoir, doge and use phybeam!” Placing her hands in a triangle, Gardevoir summons a purple ball of energy, sending it Salandit’s way.

“Salandit doge!” Only escaping by sheer luck, it did leave them confused. Perfect. “Damn it! Get up!”

“Use phybeam again!” After sending another beam again, Salandit was left with swirly eyes.

“What are you guys doing? Get her!” he brough Salandit back into it’s ball before letting the others have their shot at defeating you.

“Garbarodr lets go!”

“Zubats come on out!”

4 v 1? That seems a little unfair. “Smeargle, Lurantis, lets go!” Both jumped into battle ready for whatever was next.

“Aww a little Smeargy weergy!! Tupp I’ve got to have him too!!!”

“You can have him when you defeat them!”

“Use sludge bomb!” They both exclaimed as blue haired one Tupp was shoveling fruit into the trash bag.

Shit – they’re both heavily resistant to most of my moves. What do I do? I guess I just have to stick to the basics. “Gardevoir, Lurantis, use solar beam! Smeargle, use rock slide!”

A/N: (Did you know Smeargle can copy practically any move and will be permanently added to it’s move set? So cool! And great for letting the author pull shit out their ass too!)

Your Pokémon's attacks were enough to not only counter their sludge bomb, but also enough to knock out their Pokémon.

Yelps emerged from the delinquents as they their Pokémon returned to their balls. Then the one stealing the fruits was surprised by the Litten tearing up the garbage bag. Though bruising all the fruits inside, it assured the thieves weren’t able to run away with as much as planned.

“You guys weren’t even that cute!”

“We’ll get our pay back!”

“Yeah watch your back!”

They all jolted away, taking fist fulls of stolen fruits with them.

Before you could celebrate your victory just yet, you needed to see if anyone was hurt. “Hey ma’am. Are you ok?”

“Oh yes dear... Just a little frightened that’s all.” Her leathery yet warm hands sandwiched yours. “Thank you so much for stepping in.”

“No problem at all. I’ll try and help you clean everything up.”

“That’s very kind of you thank you so much.” the old lady’s smile beaming warmer than the Alolan sun. Or maybe it was just the Litten rubbing it’s head up against your leg...You helped her up and started cleaning up her stall. Even your Pokémon came into help.

To thank you, the kind lady offered a bag of free non-bruised fruit. You just couldn’t accept it, but she insisted. I mean you got what you came for. Food and treats!

Speaking of, you wondered why those fools were stealing fruits. Where they hungry? Can’t feel too bad now can you? After all they chose to rob a fruit stand ran by an old lady. Even then, you can’t help but wonder what kind of situation they’re in. Doesn’t excuse their bad actions but certainly explains it.

Ula’ Ula island:

The pitter patter of the rain eroded the rooves above, though not his raging hunger. Unlike other gangs, his was poor. Only scraping by from scraps and petty crime. Not much going on inside his head. His back up against a boney couch didn’t help either. He really just wanted to relax today and let his grunts take care of tonight's meal.

The door bursting open with grunts spilling out. Tripping on the uneven floor boards they dropped their fruits. A bruised fruit bumping into Guzma’s limp hand. He looked at the scattered fruits, when to the grunts. “What the hell are you doing?! And what is this?” Gripping the fruit almost enough to juice it with pure anger. “This isn’t enough to feed everyone and their Pokémon!”

“I’m sorry boss, this chick with a Gardevoir, Smeargle, and Lurantis spoiled our plans.” Tupp retorted. “Even while she was distracted this bratty Litten came and slashed our bags.”

“So we took what we could!” whimpered the pick haired one.

“With a Lurantis you say?”

“Yup.”

“Did this chick have H/C hair?”

“Uh yeah, how’d you know?”

“Tch, you don’t need to worry bout that. Next time I see her I’ll give her a piece of my mind.” The weight of his thoughts rested in the palm of his hand. Thinking of what he could do in retaliation. “Well then, we’ll track her down and steal her Pokémon.”

“Really?!? EEEE!! Can I get the Gardi and smeary??”

His groans. “Yeah yeah whatever we’ll get that sorted when we actually get her Pokémon.”

“Your the best big boss Guzma!!” unconsciously bringing him into a tight embrace.

His evil smile faltered. “Thank you, I know.” Even though he was this gloomy gang leader, he cared about his little numbskulls. But of course he still had his own boundaries. “Ok I’m already doing ya a favor by letting you have one of them when were done, no more hugs ok...”

“Oh! Sorry Guz...” her arms slowly loosened around him.

“Ay Rapp”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Tell Plumeria bout the plan. you three will help her track that chick down.”

“On it boss!” You could never see what's under their black bandanas, but it was really obvious she was stupidly smiling.

Stupid numbskulls...

A/N:

Kind of a short chapter this time around and not a lot of Guzma. Sorry!

Likes, reposts, and comments are always appreciated :3

A/N

Inspired by @matrixsclubhouse ‘s fic bc omfg was that a banger (yes it was)

I’m sorry I’m really bad at writing fan fics bc i lowky mischaracterize all the time and English isn’t my first language T.T so let me know how i can improve (nicely ofc<3) but anyways this is a personal project for funsies so yea :3 also sorry if the formatting is weird im using mobile ;-;

hope you enjoy!

New classes in a new place you were unfamiliar with wasn’t really your thing, but your parents bugged you to get out and study abroad. Maybe they just didn’t want you around for another 4 years. You couldn’t complain, having a nice little beach side, shack house for the next few years might be the thing you need. But just you and your Pokémon hanging out together for the entirety of being in Alola? You could use some human friends as well. You guess it won’t be too hard making friends here. Everyone seems really nice and welcoming. Especially the Pokémon; after getting off the plane you were welcomed by a stranger’s Rockruff. Quite the cheery little guys he was.

You were out walking around after your classes, warm sun beaming on your face. The clear blue sky was enough to cool you down until gentle sigh of the wind caressed you. It almost made you drowsy how perfect the weather was. You could just sleep on the grass for 1,000 years with how the weather was treating you. Then the sandwich in your hand felt a lot lighter. You realized it was a Litten who stole it!

“Kitty! That wasn’t very nice!” Litten jolted off into the bushes. Without a second thought you bolted into the foliage after Litten, and your sandwich. Your eyes made sure to lock onto them as they ran. You kept up a good pace until Litten took a sharp right turn.

Before you could even process the turn, your head crashed into... a tree? A tree that yelped like a little Rockruff, “Hey! Watch it girlie!” Feeling your bruise before focusing on what you just ran into. Some guy with messy white hair, black under cut, and looks about the same age as you.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to.” You responded softly. “I was just chasing after that –” speak of the devil; rustling came from the direction Litten ran off into. First ears, then a cute fuzzy face emerged. “Litten.” Intended to not scare it off again (despite you fucking police chasing lil bro into the forest), you sat cross legged to make yourself seem small. “Come one little guy – Give me my sandwich...”

While you were trying to befriend Litten, the dude scoffed; his attention grabbed by a little Wimpod who tugged at his sock. “Hey little guy.” He picked up the little guy and patted him. Ignoring him, you made sure to not make any sudden movements and... Crap! Litten turned around and whipped their tail at you before they disappeared into the bushes.

“Shit.” You turn to the dude to see how he’s getting along with his Pokémon. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just out here with my Pokémon. Why does it matter to you?” He lifted the Wimpod away from you.

“Hey man, I’m not trying to start any trouble.”

He gave you an up and down. “Right... And you’re just here stupidly chasing after a Litten...”

“What else could cause me to bump into you like that?”

“Your stupidity.”

You shot him a bothered glare.

He shot one back.

The sassy man apocalypse has arrived – and you’re so here for it.

You flashed him a smile. “I’m Y/N. I like psychic type Pokémon.” Maybe he’ll warm up to that. After all you’re not trying to make enemies your first week in Alola.

“I’m Guzma. Everyone calls me Big Boss Man Guzma.”

“I’m assuming you like bug types?”

“I love them! They’re the best. They’re just so cool and –”

Blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff... It’s so cute seeing people talk about their favorite Pokémon and stuff. The sparkle in their eyes is always a delight.

“I have a bug type Pokémon, you wanna see?”

“I mean I guess.”

You let out your Fomantis. She comes out doing her little dance.

Recoiling his head back in cringe. “Fomantis isn’t a bug type dumb ass. Just a pure grass type. It’s just a plant pretending to look like a bug to protect itself.”

A burning feeling rose up into your cheeks as he just schooled you about bug types. Fomantis is just frolicking about. “Aw man, I didn’t know that...”

“Clearly.” He scoffed, looking away. Fomantis caught his attention with her silly dance. He crouched and slightly stretched out his hand to give her a little pat. “Though not a bug type, its pretty cool.”

The temperature in you cheeks slightly lower seeing him alter his attention to Fomantis rather than you’re embarrassing mistake.

“Wanna see a real bug type?” A smirk tugging at his lips reaching for the poke ball in his jacket.

“Is Wimpod not one?”

“Yeah but like it’s evolution.”

“Yeah sure.”

Dramatically pulling out the poke ball from his jacket and releasing his Golisopod. Golisopod automatically taking a fighting stance, showing off it’s armored body and sharp claws.

“Yo sick!” exclaiming as you look at him while extending your arm to touch its armor. “May I?”

He cocks his head in surprise. Most people would be shitting their pants right now... Especially since I am The Guzma. Is this chick high? “I mean if you want. He might bite.”

You furrowed your brows at his attempt at scaring you, but you continued anyways. Making sure to make yourself known by the Pokémon before making any contact. Litten jumped out of your arms before you inspection. Its armor was as hard as a diamond, yet not as rough as you expected. “This guy is frickn sick!” Your eyes practically glow from how cool it is seeing a beast like Golisopod up close.

“Are you 10? Just say ‘this guy's is so fucking cool.'” mocking your voice in the process.

“10 times 2. Just starting collage around here.”

“Ah not from here?”

“I'm from the Honenn region. Came here to study abroad. Mostly because my parents wanted me too.”

“Ha! My parents wanted me out too.”

“Are you studying abroad too?”

“Me? Study?” piercing laugh rumbled from his chest; causing Litten to bolt away. “Nah none of that. Been here since day one. I just...” his gaze and demeanor lowered. He contemplated sharing more, but to a stranger? Bruh what the hell boy. “I’m just out here being me. If you have a problem, I’ll crush your skull.”

“Hey whoa, chill.” you hands rose in surrender. “Not trying to start anything. I swear.”

Attempting to threaten you with his glare and Golisopod was squashed as his stomach growled like a Pyroar. Sounds like he hadn't eaten all day. He felt the empty ache in his stomach and clutched it. “Gahh...”

You cocked your head, “Need something to eat? I can get you some-” You were cut off by his piercing retort.

“I don’t need shit from you!”

“Sorry dude I didn’t mean to offend you, just trying to offer to get you something.”

Clearing his throat he lowered his voice a bit, “Whatever.” He crossed his arms pouting the other way.

Trying your best to send over a genuine smile. Maybe then he’ll think twice about beating you up. “Well – it was nice meeting you, Guzma. See ya around?” Bro who the fuck says that to a rando who just lashed out at you?! Like your mother said, ‘You have interesting taste in men.’

“Tch, whatever. Golisopod, let’s go.” When he turned his back to you, you spotted some white symbol be crossed out with a thick red X. It looked pretty sick.

“Enjoy the rest of your day – and nice jacket!” You got left on heard.

Feeling uncomfortable with the roller-coaster of emotions, you shoved your hands into your familiar pockets as you departed. First sassy, chillish guy – then crazy weirdo.

You’re not ready to let one really, really... really weird encounter ruin your time in Alola. So you went to try some local cuisine. Maybe Gardevoir, Smeargle, and Lurantis would benefit from trying some new foods as well.

[End of chapter]

Hearts, comments, and reblogs are appreciated🥹

Lucci glanced out of the corner of his eye, watching you carefully as you kept your back to him to close and lock the gate with a firm click. Your reaction to him hadn’t gone unnoticed to his sharp awareness. When you turned to face him again you smiled. It would have been convincing to anyone else but Lucci knew the truth in your expression. A smile to reassure him, to make him drop his guard but he could sense your distrust and that was going to be an issue. If he was to keep close to prevent any possible attempts on your life things would be so much easier if you were amicable with him. If you grew even more guarded and untrusting of him, you could easily change your mind about allowing him on the grounds during the day. 

For now though you were keeping your distance, staying out of arm’s reach of him as you walked over the grounds. You climbed the steps leading to your front door and stepped inside, pausing in the doorway when Lucci remained on the pathway. “Something wrong?”

“I’m a complete stranger. You sure you want me inside your home?” Your polite smile froze in place at the question, spoken through the bird on his shoulder. That same guarded flicker in your eyes appeared when Lucci met your gaze. On the surface he kept his usual blank stare but underneath his own quiet assessment began to stir. Were you trying to decipher if he had an ulterior motive in appearing respectful to your boundaries or were you trying to hide the fact you weren’t as naive and laidback as you liked to appear?

“Well if you’re here to work for me you’ll have to come in otherwise this is just pointless. So is this were we part ways already?” You asked simply, keeping your voice casual but with a challenge hidden in the silence that Lucci heard all too clearly. Giving up so soon? 

Lucci stared at you hard and shook his head, deciding to offer you a look that conveyed he was desperate for the work. After all he was a newcomer to this island, odd jobs from random townsfolk wouldn’t pay him enough or offer proper security compared to what someone of your standing could give him. Finally he climbed the steps and followed you inside, looking around the home with open appreciation as though he was seeing such a grand mansion for the first time. Truthfully it was impressive, the decor was classy and tasteful and not garish or blindingly hideous like some he’d seen over the years. He stepped into your study and stopped on one side of the desk while you walked around to open a drawer and pulled out a roll of paper.

Untying it you let it unfurl on the desk and turned it for Lucci to see. “These are initial plans for the grounds. I’m sure you noticed for yourself they’re bare looking. This’ll be a complete renovation; flowerbeds, pond, gazebo, the works.” You explained while Lucci’s eyes scanned the different concepts drawn out. As he looked over things you’d kept your eyes firmly on him, assessing, waiting. “Think you’re up to it?”

“It’s all easy enough, it’ll just take a while to do if it’s just one guy working on it.” Your lips twitched at Hattori’s input and lightly scoffed when Lucci gave a slight shrug and nod, the continued image of the impassive stranger. He lifted the designs and began to roll up the paper carefully and secure it as it had been.

“There’s one thing I need though before you start.” You spoke up carefully, catching Lucci’s attention immediately. “I need you to speak.”

You spotted Lucci’s jaw clench slightly and his intent stare already fixed on your face seemed to become sharper. It was just for a fleeting second but it seemed dangerous and it took everything in you not to instinctively reach for the gun hidden on the underside of the desk. “The ventriloquism thing is cute and if you want to keep that up around the rest of the town, fine. But when it’s just us I want to hear your voice. You said so yourself, you’re a complete stranger so consider this a sign of goodwill. Prove I can trust you.”

Lucci had hoped you would have been someone like Iceberg, who didn’t ask questions and passed off his silence as a quirk but no, you were sharper than that. Still, he wanted to test the waters and see if he could get something out of this too. Hattori ruffled his feathers and spoke the request on his behalf, still not giving in just yet. “Will you answer a question as a sign of goodwill too?”

“Of course.” You promised so easily and quickly that Lucci readied himself to speak through Hattori, believing he’d get his end of the bargain first but then you smirked and held up a finger. “But I need to hear the question from you, not the bird.” 

Lucci clicked his tongue and his momentary annoyance only seemed to amuse you further. “Why was it so important to see my hands yesterday?”

By contrast to what he’d been using as Hattori’s voice to his actual voice was a surprise but not an unpleasant one. It was deep, steady, and strong. Even his question was direct, which was refreshing. The people of the town always hid what they wanted to ask in amongst unnecessary compliments and apologies for being an imposition to you. At his question you looked at his hands, still remembering how they felt the day before. “I wanted to know if I was wasting my time or not.” You explained with a tired smile. “I’ve had countless people coming with the pretence of looking for work for me and not be suited for the job just in the hopes I’m stupid and not ask questions.They’ll lie and forge their eligibility on paper but their hands? Those can’t lie.”

“And what did my hands tell you?” Lucci asked, a small smirk of his own pulling at his lips.

“You’re strong, no stranger to hard work, and have definitely worked with your hands.” You explained while setting the key for the gate on the desk. “That’s yours. If you want to get started, head down to the docks and tell the foreman to let you into the warehouse. You’ll find the necessary supplies there to begin work on the garden. There’ll be workers about to help you bring the heavier materials here.”

———

It had been a long time since Lucci had gotten to do physical labour. As much as he tried to disregard it but the memories of his time on Water 7 did bubble to the surface as he measured the lengths of wood and marked where to make certain cuts to match your proposed designs. As much as this was simply a cover, he was still putting his all into the work. You’d correctly observed that he was hardworking, that much was true and if he was to be here for nearly a year, he may as well make the most of it. 

Outwardly he appeared solely focussed on his task but all of his senses were keenly set on you. Where you were at any moment, he was aware of it completely. With his sharpened skills he could hear any soft shifting of the fabric of your clothes when you pushed open the window in your study before sitting down at your desk with a resigned sigh. When he’d investigated during the night and entered the study that morning he’d noted the small bundle of letters sitting waiting to be read. He’d assessed that they’d gathered during your time away for the most recent funerals of your family members. As much as he would have preferred to have read them during the night he knew not to touch them just yet. Now that you were opening them he would get his chance to peruse them tonight when you’d gone to sleep.

From the way he could hear you sigh sharply with an even balance of boredom and annoyance, Lucci didn’t expect to find anything of great importance in the documents but it was better to confirm it completely for himself with no room for mere speculation. 

“Thirsty? Hungry?” Lucci glanced over his shoulder when you approached him. He shook his head and returned to his work of planing the cuts of wood. Behind him he heard you sigh, similar to when you’d been in the study. Annoyance. “Not only is this your first day but it’s warm and you haven’t stopped since you started. Take a break Lucci.”

“I’m fine.”

“You ‘being fine’ or not wasn’t part of the conversation.” You remarked with narrowing eyes. “You’re entitled to breaks. Either take one now or go back to your lodgings for the day. Your choice.” 

With his back to you, Lucci’s eyes narrowed fiercely and his jaw clenched hard. This was the part he hated about the undercover aspect of these missions. He was an elite agent, his body, stamina, and mental fortitude was honed expertly to allow him to work as long as he needed on very little sleep and food. This version of him had to be fragile, by comparison. Weak. He loathed to be seen as that. If you truly knew what he was capable of you wouldn’t be concerned for his state after a few measly hours of work in the sun. Still he had to bear it. For the mission. Didn’t mean he had to pretend he liked it, especially when you were threatening to send him home like a child. With a click of his tongue he slammed his hand against the wood, turning to frown at you. “Fine. How long do I get?”

“Thirty minutes.” You instructed before grabbing his arm and turning to go back inside. Instinct at being grabbed had made Lucci tense but he relaxed quickly, killing his initial instinct and training to disengage your loose hold and instead followed you into the kitchen. “Sit.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to insist on feeding me next.” He muttered, looking over at you when you laughed dryly. 

“Yeah because the rich person cooking would be just torture, right?” You asked sarcastically as you grabbed a small box from the cabinet. “What disastrous concoctions would I make you choke down? Let’s hope I don’t poison you.”

Sitting opposite him at the table you set the box down hard and opened it, pulling out a set of tweezers and grabbed Lucci’s wrist, turning his hand around to see his palm. Lucci only now noticed the fairly substantial splinter imbedded in his skin. “Somehow I think you’d only poison me if it was intentional, not because of your cooking skills.” He noted, remaining still and watching you intently as you began to remove the splinter. Again if it weren’t for this role he was playing, he would have just told you to just rip it out as there was no need to be gentle. He’d suffered worse injuries than a tiny shard of wood.

“Skills might be too kind of a word.” You noted as you managed to get a good enough grip on the splinter. Quickly you glanced up from his hand to meet his gaze, surprised at how focussed he was on you. Not exactly judging or untrusting, just calmly observing and waiting. Clearing your throat you looked back down. With one firm, clean pull the splinter lifted from his hand and reached into the box to grab the disinfectant and gauze. “Almost done.”

“It’s fine.” Lucci reassured, the strong clinical smell making his nose wrinkle slightly. His Devil Fruit may have granted him an abundance of skills and heightened instincts and senses but in times like this it had a definite draw back. You fixed the gauze securely over the puncture the splinter made to prevent any infection setting in and lightly tapped his hand before rising from your seat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, although that should teach you a valuable lesson.” You grinned, watching him stand and flex his hand to adjust to the gauze before giving you a questioning look. “Next time I tell you to do something, don’t throw a tantrum.”

“I didn’t throw a tantrum.” Lucci scowled at you only making your grin spread at his firm denial.

“Oh, you most definitely threw a tantrum.” You laughed before heading for the door. “Enjoy your break, help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”  

———

When night came, Lucci repeated his same actions as the previous night, sneaking into your home after you’d gone to bed and made his way through the darkened rooms he’d just been in hours previous. For his enforced breaks during the day you were surprisingly laidback about him being in your home. Obviously to maintain the image of respect and being aware of his ‘station’ he kept mainly to the kitchen and living room. Now though, he could go where he pleased. 

After doing his rounds and listening for any intruders, Lucci made his way to your study and looked for the letters you’d read that morning. Many were mere from vaguely familiar names, their letters filled with platitudes expressing their ‘most heartfelt condolences’ over the deaths of your relatives before swiftly making a not so subtle comment about hoping to see you and the next big party or hope to be able to do business with your esteemed family in some capacity. Lucci memorised their names for future reference, carefully returning their letters to their previous resting place before moving on to the others. 

These ones were from different family members but held very little intel for him, nothing veiled as a sinister threat or hint they knew more about the deaths than they let on. Some were general updates about their lives, clear repeats that were being sent out to the entire family like a family made newspaper. Any excuse to brag or boast about their accomplishments but ultimately boring.  Some were from members not on the inheritance list and a lot more carefree and confident they won’t be targets while also expressing hopes you manage to survive the whole messy ordeal. Included in the family correspondences were a couple birthday party and wedding invitations. Lucci spotted one wedding was for one of your cousins he knew for certain was on the inheritance list. Were they bringing the wedding forward to prevent their death or were they just one of the small percentage unbothered by obtaining an inheritance that ultimately wouldn’t change their life? 

Before he could open another letter his head snapped up when he sensed movement from upstairs. Setting the letters down, he moved to swiftly and silently into the hallway and hid himself in the dark shadow as you sleepily and slowly descended the staircase. His eyes followed your slow movements as you yawned loudly, the back of your hand hovered over your mouth as the fingertips of your free hand gently skimmed the bannister. Even with your eyes slightly closed you navigated your home with practiced movements, relying on muscle memory see you safely down the staircase and into the kitchen. 

Staying in the dark Lucci repositioned himself and waited for you to finish getting your drink of water, planning to go back into your study as soon as you were tucked back into bed. However just as you set your glass in the sink, the deaden mushi on your desk began to ring and he bit his tongue harshly to stop himself from muttering a curse. Who would be calling at this hour? The sentiment was shared with you as you sleepily muttered under your breath and moved into the study. With a huff you flopped down into your seat and lifted the receiver. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Woah, my bad!” A cheerful and completely unapologetic voice sounded from the snail, “I thought I was calling my favourite cousin. Clearly I mixed up a couple numbers, huh?”

“Yeah, must have. G’night.” You yawned, leaning forward to hang up only for your cousin to chime in again.

“Now, now, don’t give up that easy. C’mon just a quick chat and I’ll let you go back to your oh so exciting night of sleeping.”

“You could do with having a quiet night for once, might actually enjoy getting more than an hour of sleep and no hangover in the morning.”

“And you could do with having a fun night out and live for once.” Your cousin retorted with a laugh. “Y’know before the next funeral happens and brings the mood down.”

“You could take this a little seriously.” You chastised with a building yawn. “Some of us could be next.”

“Ohhh yeah, my bad cuz.” Your cousin laughed softly while you rolled your eyes. “Y’know I was a little hurt I wasn’t in great-uncle’s will in the beginning…”

“You’ve been married three times.”

“Yeah! But I was divorced by the time the old man wrote the will.” They protested and you could already envision their playful pout. “But then when the others started dropping at a rate that definitely wasn’t pure coincidence or bad luck it really put things into perspective, y’know? Literally dodged a bullet on that one.”

“Was there an actual reason you called?” You asked, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable. Lucci stole a glance into the room to see you throw your legs over one of the armrests and close your eyes softly. 

“Huh? Oh yeah! Listen…” You knew that tone and your eyes snapped open and your frown fixed firmly onto the snail on your desk. “I have a massive favour to ask.”

“I’m not liking this already…”

“No, please it’s nothing too big, not really.” Your cousin insisted. “So I’m going to be going on a romantic little cruise of the four Blues next month and I was hoping you’d let us stay at yours as a little stopping point for a couple days to resupply and rest up before setting sail again.”

“When you say ‘us’ you mean?”

“Well me, my latest flame, and a few personal staff. The captain and his crew can slum it in the tavern. So what do you say? Having someone else in your home won’t kill you, you could do with the company. Aren’t you bored being on your own all the time.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to feign concern just to stay at mine.”

“I’m not feigning anything. Seriously, you doing okay?”

“I promise I’m fine, you’ll see for yourself next month. Happy?”

“Always.” Your cousin grinned and you fought a small smile as you now thought of having to prepare for the extra people coming. “Hey, do me a favour?”

“I’m already doing you a favour.”

“Apart from that. Maybe think about investing in a pet?” You pulled a face at that remark. Seriously did your cousin think you were a lonely old shut-in? “Nothing boring like a goldfish or hamster though. I think a dog would be too energetic for you.”

“So what like a cat or something then?” You asked with a small laugh. As you turned in your seat a sound from upstairs caused both you and Lucci to react. Sharply your gaze snapped to the open doorway of your study, your body on alert. Quickly you forced yourself to make a convincing yawn. “Tell you what. I’ll sleep on the pet thing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Hanging up you got to your feet and grabbed the letter opener from your desk. Gripping it tightly, you slowly padded your way to the partially open doorway and glanced out seeing nothing skulking in the dark. Taking a steadying breath you tightened your grip on the improvised weapon and carefully crept out, eyes never staying in one place. You searched around you multiple times as you, always scanning and always on alert, prepared to strike if needed. Swallowing hard you moved upstairs, licking your dry lips and trying to keep your breaths as silent as possible. You flinched when one of the floorboards under your feet creaked softly and your heart leapt into your throat at the sudden noise. 

Muttering under your breath and shaking your head at your own foolish reaction you steadied yourself and continued. You shuddered lightly as a soft breeze fell over your skin. Normally on a warm night it would be a soothing comfort but now in this moment, it was prickling and unpleasant. You tensed when a noise came overhead and you ducked in time as a bat missed hitting your head. Immediately you let out a heavy sigh, with the windows that you’d let open enough to keep you cool during the night, the poor thing got in and scared itself. It wasn’t the first thing you’d had to deal with this kind of intruder and you were able to herd it to the closest open window and back outside. 

Firmly you shut the window and began to calm yourself. You knew you were valid in your paranoia to immediately assume someone could have broken in to kill you as they had with your other relative but still you felt silly for thinking you could have done any damage with a letter opener of all things. Maybe you would have caught them by surprise and managed a couple pokes but it would have probably been nothing, it would have been like the splinter Lucci had this morning; an annoyance but hardly a threat. Rubbing your head you went around the house, closing and locking your windows with firm clicks. 

When the last ones in your bedroom were secured you dragged yourself into bed and settled yourself against the pillows. All tiredness had left you long ago but still you had to try. Even though you knew there was no danger in your home tonight you still lay on your side, eyes trained on the door and your hand tightly gripping the letter opener under your pillow. 

From outside your room Lucci remained in the shadows, close and ready to strike. It had been a tiny little bat tonight but it was a close call. It could have been an attack just as easily. Even long after he heard your breathing finally even out as the adrenaline in your system left and the exhaustion took its place, Lucci stayed near. Protecting. 

———————

As the signal came for the service to start you sat a little straighter, telling yourself that all you had to do was sit through this and you could then go home and leave the vultures to themselves until the next wedding, event, or funeral required your attendance. That had been the plan at least. It seemed your great-uncle had other wishes entirely as when the funeral was concluded his lawyer stood and announced that those he called for were to remain behind. Everyone else was to leave. Sadly for you, your name was in the list. When the final family member not needed left with a resounding, petulant slamming of the door, you and the rest of your relatives listened silently as the lawyer read out your great-uncle’s final wishes. As expected his shares in businesses were evenly split between his surviving siblings. Adequate sums of money were given to close friends and chosen charities to ensure the family name continued to be seen in a positive light. But then came the reason you were still sitting here. “It is my wish for my wealth to be distributed out equally among you, my youngest and unwed relatives. However there will be rules. The first rule is that the inheritance will only be granted one year after my death. Secondly, should any of you marry in that time, your share will be forfeit and added to the other’s inheritances. Third, although you are all young and healthy death can come to anyone. Should any of you pass from now until the deadline, your share will also be forfeit and shared amongst the others.”

At the time you only nodded, showing you understood and stood with the others. You spent no further time in the room and promptly returned to your ship and headed home, thinking no more about the will or the inheritance that would come your way in a year’s time. Unless you got married or died that was. At that stipulation in the will you had held back the urge to laugh. Of course he would have snuck something like that in, he wasn’t the first to pull something like that. Your father had once told you about his great-great aunt forbidding anyone listed in her will from wearing the colour green for six months before they received their inheritance simply because she hated the colour. You reasoned part of the rules came from a place of boredom, if you have so much money you may as well have some sort of fun with it once your gone. As your ship pulled away from the island you finally let your body relax and truly felt like you could breathe properly again. With that over with you could finally get on with your life. 

———

Ordinarily for mission assignments they were given to the agents that would be going out together, never in large groups like the one Lucci was stood with now. He wasn’t the only one confused it seemed. His gaze looked to the door as it opened and more agents came in and looked around in bewilderment. An answer for this mass of agents would be explained soon so he remained silently in his seat, lifting a curled finger to lightly stroke Hattori’s chest at the same time Kaku pulled up a chair beside him as Cipher Pol’s main liaison officer and multiple administrators entered carrying stacks of files. Lucci silently calculated there’d be a file for each agent. Wordlessly the administrators spread out around the room, handing out files as the liaison officer cleared his throat. “I’m keeping this brief. In the last month and a half twelve members of the same, prominent family have been killed.” Lucci took the file offered to him and flipped it open. His gaze zeroed in on the family name and felt a frown pull at his lips as some murmurs broke out, all of the agents understanding in unison how serious a family of your standing was to the balance and power of the world. It was also worth mentioning your family were huge supporters of the Marines for centuries. “While some managed to look like tragic accidents it’s clear these deaths have been intentional. We need to act before more are targeted.”

“Sir, this copy of the will…” One agent spoke up, his gaze on the legal document included in everyone’s file. “Are we to lead with the belief that these deaths are at the says of someone in the family itself?”

“Yes. The less members to share the inheritance, the bigger the survivors receive.” The liaison nodded. “This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened however the bigger picture is what each of these deaths do to the world state. This family has dealings in many industries and is large enough to cause havoc if this situation worsens. The newspapers are already circulating stories on this and we need to get it under control. Each of you have been given a specific family member on the inheritance list. You are to investigate thoroughly to discover if they are the person or persons responsible for the current deaths, stop them from causing anymore, and prevent them from being targets. Most importantly of all, keep a low profile and do not attract any attention about your true intentions. There will be no more public news about this situation. You all have your assigned target, leave as soon as possible.”

With that Lucci rose from his seat and left with the other agents, everyone set on their tasks with no room for idle conversation. As he boarded his ship, he gave a small cursory nod to Kaku and the others. Stepping into his quarters, Lucci sat down and began to meticulously read over his file. Silently he examined your photos and personal information, looking for anything of use to aid him in his investigation. If there was just under a year until the inheritance was paid, it was safe to assume that would be the duration of his mission. If he wanted to be as prepared and efficient as possible he needed to craft a persona for himself to explain his presence with as little questions as possible. Your family weren’t to know they were being observed and he could hide himself with little effort but if you were one of the targets, instead of the perpetrator he doubted those responsible would stop after a single failed attempt. A family as rich and influential as yours could hire multiple assassins and mercenaries as they liked without batting an eye to the price and that was before they received the added boost from your late relative. 

Absently Lucci drummed his fingers against the armrest of his chair as he looked over the twelve deaths. One died from falling over the balcony of their mansion in the middle of a party, that had originally been classed as a drunken accident. One had fallen down the stairs and broken their neck. Another drowned after ‘falling asleep in the tub.’ One death had been at the hands of a seemingly random pirate raid hitting the island they lived on. Two had been stabbed in previously thought to be safe locations, one had been shot by a sniper, three had suffered poisonings, and two had perished in fires. Lucci felt himself growing annoyed already. If the assassins were as good to be able to kill from a distance with a sniper as well as get into the homes and even manage to plant poison without detection then he couldn’t just merely stick to the shadows for the duration of the mission. If he had to prevent any possible chance of death befalling you then he would have to get close. Close without his presence being suspicious, preferably in a way that granted him access to your home. 

His sharp gaze poured over the included images of your home and its full blueprints of the layout, already searching for possible weak spots and good vantage points for nighttime surveillance. By the time the sun had set and he was turning in for the night he had everything memorised, already devising the fastest routes and running through any and all possible methods for breaking in, hiding, escaping for nearly any scenario or attack.

The next morning the ship docked at the island neighbouring yours and Lucci disembarked, ready dressed in simple and plain clothing and planning to get a merchant ship to take him the rest of the way. His plan was to appear as though he was just a simple civilian moving to your island in search of work. For the next nine and half months he was no longer an agent, an instrument to kill. He was an ordinary man, just like he had been back on Water 7. Skilled, hardworking, unassuming. He’d be just another person going about their life until his mission was classed a success and he could discard the persona and return to Cipher Pol Headquarters, just as he did for his other missions. It was no effort at all to get passage onto the ship, especially after some money was offered in gratitude for the journey. Lucci leaned against the mast of the modest little ship that drew closer to the island already visible in the distance. Just another short distance to go. 

———

You were exhausted but knew there would be no benefit to going to sleep so early in the day, as tempting as it would be. You braced your hands against the counter of your kitchen and glared out at the bright, sunny day that was irritating your stinging, tired eyes. You’d arrived home just as the sun rose after yet another trip to yet another funeral and had no urge to do anything. Not that you had anything pressing to do anyway. Any necessary correspondences and minimal duties were seen to before you’d left for the most recent funeral. Rubbing your neck you sighed and looked around the kitchen, remembering why you came here in the first place. In spite of your exhaustion and all that had happened you knew you needed to eat. Even if it was a little at a time, you needed to maintain your energy in some capacity because you knew this was far from over.

You ate slowly, forcing yourself to just focus on one bite at a time. It didn’t matter if your meal took longer than usual, if anything it meant it would kill time until you could actually lie down and sleep. Now that your stomach was full you felt a little bit more alert and with that came the agitation of having energy but having nothing to do. After you washed up and cleaned away your plate you stepped outside into your garden just as you caught a muffled but familiar voice in the distance, drawing closer to the front gate of your home. The island mayor if you weren’t mistaken. “Now remember, I’m only showing you the house because you helped me out. Don’t be disturbing them, until tomo- oh!”

The mayor jumped in surprise from behind the gate to see you approach. The old man bowed respectfully at you, regardless of how many times over the years you’s told him he didn’t need to. Sharply he jabbed the man beside him in the ribs, coaxing him to bow too. Curiously you looked at the newcomer who peculiarly had a white pigeon perched on his shoulder. He wasn’t someone you recognised and given how the mayor mentioned showing him your house it was clear he was a stranger to the island completely. Now you had to wonder why he wanted to see it. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh him? He appeared late this morning. Wants to make the island his home apparently, been asking about jobs and lodging.”

“I see.” You smiled, looking to the stranger politely. “Any luck?”

The man opened his mouth but the mayor cut in immediately. “He’s got a room in the tavern for tonight at least and managed a few odd jobs in town.” The mayor lightly clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Then I remembered you mentioning you were considering looking for someone to do work on the grounds. Perfect timing huh? I’ll leave you two to discuss things, oh and sorry again for your loss.”

You nodded stiffly and watched the mayor turn and disappear down the path that lead him back to town, leaving you and the stranger alone. You jumped slightly when the pigeon on his shoulder ruffled his feathers and extended a wing. “Hoo, hoo I’m Hattori. This guy’s name is Rob Lucci and the mayor’s right he is looking for work.” An amused curve of your lips appeared as your eyes darted back to Lucci’s face. “So you got anything for us like the old man said?”

“That depends.” You mused watching Lucci’s head tilt slightly, showing he was listening. “Show me your hands.”

“Huh? What kinda interview is this?” Hattori’s high pitched tone sounded out and you grinned playfully, offering him a light shrug. 

“Humour me?” You requested innocently. “Put your hands between the bars, palms up please. Promise I don’t bite.”

Lucci stared at you for a second, keeping his expression calm and slowly lifted his hands from his sides and did as you asked, passing them between the spaces of the bars in the locked gate. You leaned forward and examined his palms with a critical stare before you gently reached out, your fingers running over his palms and fingertips while your thumbs traced against the back of his hands. You took in the coarseness of his warm skin, feeling every little nick, callous, faint scars, and especially taking note of how strong his hands felt even in their relaxed position. Satisfied you pulled your hands away and smiled at him. “Okay. Interview’s over.” You smiled, turning on your heel and began to head back towards the house. “Come back tomorrow, I’ll get you started on some work then.”

“What was that about?” Hattori called after you. Instead of stopping or looking back you lifted your hand to lazily wave at them. 

“Tomorrow morning, Lucci.” Lucci watched you disappear, completely unsure of what to make of you so far. You seemed like any other rich person, ordering people based on their random whims but at the same time your careful scrutiny of his hands and the fact that you kept a safe distance from the gate that you never once moved to open told him something else entirely. Still he couldn’t complain, this introduction went far smoother than he’d thought possible. Already he had an in with you and if you were going to allow him to work for you on your grounds, he already had access to your home during the day for his investigations and to keep you from being assassinated. He turned and headed back to the town, making sure to be seen to return to the tavern he’d gotten lodging in for the night then he’d make his way back here to start his hidden surveillance of you. 

———

You hadn’t done anything of note throughout the day, stayed inside your home only really going to your study and the kitchen. Lucci observed you didn’t have any servants in your home. You didn’t even have a cook when he watched you prepare dinner for yourself. Perhaps this was their day off? He’d look into that more over the coming days. You cleaned up and when night fell Lucci remained in the shadows as you moved up the staircase and into your bedroom. Even living in seclusion and away from the rest of the town you still moved to the large windows and began to close the curtains only to stop suddenly and stare out. Lucci narrowed his eyes. No, there was no way you could see him. Not this far back and with this cover. Then you leaned forward and used your sleeve to wipe a mark off of the glass before pulling the curtains closed and hiding you from sight. 

When the lights switched off, Lucci moved swiftly and silently to clear the high fences and crossed the grounds. As expected picking the lock of your door took little effort and he made his way inside. Starting in the kitchen he meticulously inspected your food and raw ingredients looking for any sign of possible tampering or poisoning. When that was cleared he moved through your home like a ghost, anything he moved and investigated was put back with precision as if he wasn’t there. There were no suspicious lists of your relatives or signs of being in contact with an assassin but this was his initial search. His more in-depth scrutiny into your home, secrets, and personal life would come later. The rich always knew how to cover their tracks efficiently but if there was anything to find, it was inevitable he would root it out and succeed in his mission. 

Finally he moved to your room. Staying close to the door he peered inside your room and saw you lying in your bed. The sound of your deep, relaxed breathing telling him you were definitely fast asleep. Lucci stepped inside and did a sweep of your room, keeping an ear out for any sign of change in your breathing or for any possible intruder coming to make their move so swiftly after the last death to hit your family. For the rest of the night Lucci stayed hidden in the hallway, guarding you until the sun began to rise. Quickly he left, locking up behind him and made his way back to the tavern to change and ready himself for his first full day of working for you. 

———

After a full night’s rest of deep, uninterrupted sleep you felt more yourself and woke feeling refreshed. As you rose you remembered Lucci would be returning and sighed, working on preparing yourself for that. You were happy to play the fool if it meant people kept their guards down and underestimated you. The laidback member of an important family who got everything they wanted without a care and with no real view of the world beyond the fact it was there to cater to your every wish was an easy role to play. But you weren’t an idiot. You never were. And it certainly didn’t take a genius to spot how twelve less family members meant someone in the family wasn’t satisfied with their already enormous share and weren’t going to be happy until there was only them left. You would be a target. If not today then definitely within the next nine and a half months. 

As you looked outside you spotted Lucci casually appear on the pathway towards your home you stepped outside and headed towards the gate to unlock it and let it inside. You didn’t believe in coincidence so you weren’t going to just believe some mysterious stranger looking for work happened to appear in the midst of all this was by chance. He was hiding something and you were going to keep him occupied with work until you got to the truth of the matter regardless of what it took and how long.

———————

It’s something you’ve thought about here and there, not obsessively, but in that way you think about things when time seems to be moving too slowly. The thought would pop up more and more after what happened in Octavinelle. 

How were the twins so different? 

Jade reminds you of the open sea. The water looks clear, so you start diving down, but as you go deeper it gets darker. It makes you wonder what monsters it’s hiding from you. 

But Floyd was harder to describe… He wasn’t always moody, but he was fickle and overwhelming with his emotions. You didn’t know much more about him after that. 

It doesn’t matter. 

There’s not much more worth knowing anyways. 

— 

Floyd’s life might be perfect! 

He’s got his brother in Pomefiore, doing whatever the heck a Jade does in that fancy dorm, and his boss right by his side doing boss-man things! There isn’t much that he would change, there’s no one that needs squeezing, and the Mostro Lounge has been running smoothly. 

“Floyd,” The tall boy slides up smoothly next to Azul, just barely slouching in that way Azul claimed was unprofessional. “Could you head over to Pomefiore and check if Jade’s got any ideas for an autumn revamp for the Lounge?” 

“Eh?” Azul still talked about Jade so much. “Y’know he’s just gonna suggest his mushroom idea again! Blegh— nobody’s comin’ to the Lounge if we put those things on the menu!” 

Azul gives him a look, pinching the bridge of his nose like he might have a headache. It was just a question! And if Floyd already knew what Jade was gonna say, then it would be a waste of time to head all the way to Pomefiore for what he already knew. 

Ooh! He could see someone interesting on the way though…

He hasn’t seen the seadragon in a while, they were saying something about being stressed about exams last time, weren’t they? 

Heheh, seadragon was really bad at accepting help, but really good at complaining. 

It kinda gets on his nerves. Maybe a good squeeze would knock some sense into them— 

“We were talking over the phone last night and he said he actually had some pattern ideas.” Azul hums, a small smirk spreading across his face. “So if you could go pick those up for me it’d be a huge help, I’ll hold down the Lounge while you’re gone, yeah?” 

“Yeah yeah! See ya on the flip side, boss-man!” 

…Floyd doesn’t get why Azul seems to prefer Jade so much. He’s the twin that stayed after all, Floyd is his vice, his right hand man. 

He is. 

— — 

Floyd is tempted to dump the pile of fabric underneath his arm into a fountain. But then Azul would ask him what happened, or worse!

He’d ask Jade. Over the phone. 

Maybe Floyd should just break the boss-man’s phone? It’d be interesting to see how he reacts, but he’d probably just buy a new one and give Floyd that disappointed little sigh and the whole “I thought we talked about you doing things like this” speech. 

He wasn’t in the mood to be scolded today. 

…But he could drag his feet and go on a little adventure, if the fabrics ended up ruined because of someone else, then Azul and Jade couldn’t blame him. 

The grin that spreads across his face when he catches sight of a certain seadragon sitting on their favorite bench is vicious. 

— — — 

The Magical Theories of Propulsion was not exciting and you never should’ve expected Riddle to tell you the truth, not when it was studying season and he expected you to do your very best. 

If the stress of upcoming exams doesn't kill you then this book might. 

You would’ve abandoned studying entirely—  you already know you’re going to breeze through your Potionology exam, though that is only one of them…— but Riddle encouraged you to study like a normal person. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by a simple realization: Has a cloud blocked the sun? 

You turn on your haunches and find yourself nose to nose with one of the Leech twins. 

“Eyyy! Whatcha doing all the way out here, is Goldfishie throwing a fit up at Heartslabyul or somethin’?” Your shoulders fall, somehow your body relaxes under the harsh weight of Floyd’s two-toned gaze. 

You give him a half-hearted smile as he settles into a more comfortable position next to you. “He’s making me study theories and junk…I could do better with my memorization I guess.” 

“Tch, that doesn’t sound like any fun…” You glance at him from the side of your eye, for some reason you don’t find it unsettling that he’s halfway lingering in your blind spot. “Well aren’t you in a mood, something happened at the Lounge?” 

“Nah, just nuthin’ interesting today. Not even you.” 

You click your tongue at his statement, your brows furrowing in annoyance. Floyd’s grin stretches when he sees your hands tighten around the spine of your book, it’s always so easy to get you riled up. “Whaaaaat? It’s the truth! My mean seadragon ain’t paying no attention to me, what’s so great about that book, huh?” 

“The book isn’t insulting me, for one.” 

“Eh?!”

“And I’m pretty sure Riddle is gonna quiz me on it when I get back to Heartslabyul, so unless you’re planning to let me hide out in Octavinelle, leave me alone with my boring books.” 

When…

When were you ever close enough to Floyd to talk so flippantly to him like this— 

A feeling of contentment settles in you as Floyd flops onto your legs, crushing the pages of your book between his back and your knees. “Floyd! What the heck!” You shove at the taller boy, but it’s useless once Floyd has his mind set on something. “This is a library book, I’ve got to return this! Get off you big lug—“ 

“Lotsa complainin’ comin’ from ya but I ain’t hearing any sorry,” You blink in disbelief, taking in his smug face, what the hell did you have to apologize for? “You haven’t spent any time with me, seadragon! You're waaaaaaaay too worried about your stupid exams and Goldfishie, shouldn’t you be more worried about what I think about you?” 

“And what do you think about me?” Might as well let Floyd’s actions slide, you have kinda been neglecting him, haven’t you? 

You can’t remember the last time you two hung out. 

You can’t remember any of the times you two hung out actually…

“Hmmm…I think ya owe me!” You blink at the finger he taps on your nose, your own hand smacking it away as you glare down at him. “Well, you’re gonna owe me, so might as well just pay me back now!” 

“For what?” Seven, you don’t think you’ve called in any favors from Floyd recently. The last time was enough for you. 

Last time? 

“I’m gonna let ya hide out in my room for the week! That way the mean Goldfishie can’t get ya, and then we can hang out!” 

You hadn’t been serious about that! I mean, you’d need a sleepover pass from Trey or Riddle and you were genuinely willing to bet money on their answers being No or No! You’re supposed to be studying! 

“Floyd, I can’t just…” 

“Sure ya can! Come on, don’t ya trust me?” 

You don’t know why you’re surprised, but for some reason, you do. And why does that seem so strange to you? 

— — — — 

You — the real you — blinks at the easy intimacy between the dream you and Floyd, they seem like…

You’re not going to think about that right now. Seven that’s terrifying to imagine, you and Floyd? 

Hah! 

Who knew Malleus had such funny jokes? 

You had been called to Crowley’s office after Potionology. Professor Crewel had delivered the news with a slight cringe on his face. He hadn’t said much else, but nobody was just casually called to the Headmage’s office unless you were in deep trouble.

So either Crowley has finally realized that it would be in his best interest to get rid of such a terrible student, or he’s going to send you on a wild goose chase again. 

“Recently I’ve noticed various improvements in your academics! Now, I don’t want to accuse any of my students of violating the integrity of this great school.” There’s a but in that sentence, you can feel it coming as your heart sinks. “Although…your improvement is rather strange when compared to your recent grades. Why, just a month ago you were missing 12 basic essays in your history class!” 

You thought you were pacing yourself. You weren’t spitting out work that you considered particularly advanced, you were only earning low B’s for Seven’s sake (which was largely credited to the fact your Professors thought you worked better with Ruggie), and your grades were still in the trenches! Were you truly improving too fast? Did you seem too advanced for a student that had been on the brink of expulsion? 

“I—I would never, sir-“ Crowley leans forward, the glowing orbs in his sockets tracking your wince like it might be evidence. “Yes yes, none of my students would participate in academic dishonesty! But maybe you can…put this newfound intelligence of yours to use, dear student?” 

You gulped, your hands fisting in your lap. “What do you want me to do, sir?” Sweat drips down your neck, dragging down your spine and settling into the material of your undershirt. Thank the Seven you’d been able to pick up your replacement blazer earlier.

“A mystery! One that has stumped some of my best students. You wouldn’t be opposed to lending fresh eyes to their situation, would you?” He wanted you to…solve a mystery? He was blackmailing you into being a detective??

You blink at the man, your jaw working as you thought the situation you’ve found yourself in. A) You were called into the Headmage’s office, but he didn’t tell Crewel why you were needed. 

B) He says he wouldn’t accuse you of cheating, but his words insinuate that he thinks you have cheated somehow. 

C) He didn’t call Ruggie in. Maybe he wants to keep you two separated for some reason? Or maybe…

Maybe he doesn’t have genuine proof that you’ve cheated. Mostly because the evidence never existed, you’re better than having to rely on such a method, but he doesn’t know that.

You were known as nothing more than a delinquent just a month ago, of course Crowley would assume you had used scandalous methods to achieve better grades. 

But he doesn’t have proof. Surely you can report him to some school council or whatever, would any of your teachers listen to you though? 

…You’re not confident they would. They might have, if this was your original life where you were known as someone who was hardworking and never coasted through class on the back of others…but you weren’t. This you wasn’t actually you. 

It’s not you, it’s not. There’s no way in hell you would ever become like this. 

“A—A, uhm, mystery?” You force your hands and body to relax. You need to make yourself seem unbothered, you can’t be too desperate to prove him wrong or you’ll crucify yourself. “I don’t know if I’ll be much help, but I’d be glad to provide my services.” 

He smiles and it sparks something uneasy in your gut. You feel like you’ve made a big mistake. 

Okay so you made a terrible mistake. He wants you to help Yuu and co investigate Ruggie. The Ruggie who you bought a Savanaclaw jersey for, the Ruggie who you bought tickets to the interdorm tournament for. 

AND THAT FUCKER HAD THE GALL TO CHEAT??

Not on you, but on the stupid game you spent a lot of money on in some bullshit show of support. You’re not as mad about him actively cheating and hurting other players, (you are a teensy bit mad about that though, oh Seven did he already get to Jamil?) you’re more mad that he was sloppy enough to get caught. 

Especially by these color-coded idiots and their pyromaniac cat. If you’d known Crowley would make you work with the Prefect and Co then you might have just taken whatever punishment he had planned for if you refused. 

The Prefect watches you with literal stars in their eyes, thanking you over and over with their hands clapping together. “We won’t take up too much of your time, I swear! I-I’m really excited to work with you!” 

Well, you didn’t have much of a choice. The power of friendship energy this group radiated would’ve never been your first option for solving such a serious issue. Yuu seemed like they just glided through life, caught in the crossfire at the worst possible moment by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

And yet everyone you’ve met praises them like they’re some godsend. It’s…

The navy-haired boy approaches you, a stiffness in his shoulders. You half expect him to hit you, maybe he’s looking to finish the fight he and his friend started outside the library that one time, but instead he bows, “I apologize for my actions the other day! I jumped the gun and caused my upper classman harm, I hope I can earn your forgiveness!” 

“…eh?” You stare into his determined eyes, waiting for him to do…anything but keep staring at you with eyes as star filled as the Prefect’s. “What d’ya mean earn my forgiveness, don’t people usually say ‘I hope you forgive me’ or something?” 

His head shakes viciously and you're afraid it might pop off. “I won’t force you to forgive me, that's something I need to earn. I’ll prove to you how great an under classman I actually am, promise!” 

…that feels like a threat. 

You glance at him through narrowed eyes, suddenly realizing you didn’t even know this guy's name. “Look man, you don’t have to go through the trouble, just make sure it doesn’t happen again by using your head and thinking things through.”

Well, at least this one seemed far more tolerable than his ginger counterpart, you sneak a look at the other freshman and aren’t surprised to find he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. “Don’t expect anythin’ from me!” 

“Ace!” Yuu gasps, their eyes becoming wide with disbelief. “Deuce apologized already, it’s only proper that you do too.” 

You don’t actually expect the ginger—Ace— to apologize, and even if he does he obviously won’t mean it, but it's good to know who the real jerk of this little group is.

You take quiet notice that Yuu doesn’t seem to include themself in the group of people who owe you an apology when they shove their fat cat in your face. “Grim would like to apologize too!” 

The cat’s cheeks puff like a particularly cranky child, the flames in his ears growing riotous as he crosses his stubby arms over his tufted chest. “Hmph! I was defendin’ my henchman’s honor.” 

That is not an apology. 

But your patience is running thin and there’s only so many hours in the day left, so you clap your hands right next to Grim’s ears (making sure to be extra loud, don’t ever let someone say you’re not just a little petty) and beam your best smile. “Well isn’t that precious. Anyways, Crowley said something about a mystery and then you guys were talking about Ruggie Bucchi, yeah?” 

“We think he’s the one who’s been causing these accidents.” The Prefect confesses, awkwardly wringing their hands after their cat climbs onto their shoulders. “Has anyone seen Ruggie when the accidents happen? Don’t take this personally, but I know your group jumps the gun a bit.” 

“Ah- no, not yet…we were actually going to check on Trey and ask him how his accident happened before Headmage Crowley called us here. If you’d be up for it, I’m sure you could be a big help!” You might need sunglasses if the Prefect keeps being so optimistically bright. Seriously, you thought Kalim was the only one who shone as brights as the literal sun, but the Prefect’s giving him a run for his money with how they’re looking at you. 

“I already told you I’m helping, don’t make me go back on my own promises now.” You huff, arms crossing over your chest as you resign yourself to spending time with the Prefect and tweedle-dum, dumber, and dumbest. 

The five of you head towards the Heartslabyul mirror, passing through it and finding yourselves in the middle of a beautiful courtyard. The rose bushes are perfectly manicured, the petals a waxy white to contrast against the lush leaves. In the middle is a carved fountain, clear blue water pooling beneath it. 

You don’t have time to linger on the actual castle that is the Heartslabyul dormitory as the first-year group walks forwards like they own the place. The gall of these people…

You trail behind them slower, hovering just far back enough that trying to make conversation would be an awkward task. Thankfully, the others seem to take a hint and leave you be for the time being. Soon enough, Deuce comes to a stop by a door and knocks, a quiet “come in” being the only answer. 

A man with green hair and a neatly painted clover mark on his cheek lays on a bed tucked beneath a window, his foot elevated on a couple of pillows. Surprisingly, you find yourself recognizing the other occupant of the room, a certain ginger that seems to be playing nursemaid for Trey. 

You linger by the doorway. You’re not hiding from Cater, you’re just…studying the Heartslabyul architecture. 

“Yo, man, how’s it going?” 

“How are you feeling, Trey?” 

“We came all this way just to see your sorry face, it’s cool—don’t get up.” 

Genuinely you wonder where they found these first-years. You’re willing to bet the trash. Disrespectful little beasts…

“Well if it isn’t Hunting Season! And Grim and Yuu too! You’re rolling deep today.” Cater grins, winking teasingly. You crack a small smile at the gambling reference, huh, you hadn’t even realized those two were a Poker pair. 

Even Yuu seems to agree with you, they wince slightly at Grim’s ‘greeting.’ “Apologies, we’re just here to check in!” 

Ace speaks up in question, rubbing his nape in a display of confusion. “Hey Cater…I’m lost, whaddaya mean by ‘Hunting Season?’” You wonder how someone can be a Heartslabyul student and not know how to play poker. 

Cater grins wider which you didn’t know was possible. You worry his face might crack in two like porcelain. “I mean it’s you guys! You’re Ace and he’s Deuce, that’s what you call an Ace Deuce in poker!” 

“Don’t give us a couple nickname!” 

“Awwh, but it’s so cute and— oh is that Sweetie I see back there! Come on in, you don’t gotta haunt the doorway like a ghost!” In a whirlwind of movement, Cater is suddenly behind you and driving you forward with a tight grip on your shoulders, kicking the door closed with his heel. 

You’re plopped by the foot of the bed, forced into a cushiony stool with Cater still behind you in your blind spot. You imagine he’s got his hands on his hips, proudly displaying you like some mom that just dragged her introvert out to play. 

It takes all your strength not to immediately cast a curse on both the gingers in this room, the one currently laughing at the ‘nickname’ Cater had foisted onto you, and the one that’s made you the star of the conversation. 

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” Trey extends his palm to you, already proving himself to be more bearable than his juniors. “I’m Trey Clover, Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul, it’s nice to meet you…?” 

You blankly tell him your name, slipping your hand into his and find yourself surprised at the calluses you feel there. You tuck away the realization that there might be more to Trey than what his clean appearance suggests for later and try to steer the conversation away from yourself and back to what you’re supposed to be doing, “Now that we’re acquainted, care to tell us about your accident?” 

“Ah, slipped on the stairs.” …that was what Crowley considered suspicious? “I couldn’t catch myself and my ankle got all messed up,” the man motions to his elevated ankle that is tenderly wrapped in bandages, “I’ll be on crutches for a while…” 

“Jeez, didn’t know it was that bad, guess you won’t be able to play in the tournament, huh?” You’re already starting to connect some dots on why someone would want to hurt Trey, you still don’t quite believe it absolutely was Ruggie though. After all, what reason did he have to shove a typical nice guy like Trey down a flight of stairs? “So somebody pushed you?” 

“No, actually. It’s the strangest thing but it was like my body wasn’t listening to me, I wasn’t even aware of what was happening until I was already at the bottom of the steps.” 

“Aw man,” Grim sighs, patting Trey’s blanket with a frown. “I was hopin’ your injury wasn’t that serious—but here, I brought ya get well tuna.” 

“Heh, thanks.” 

Does he not understand that other people aren’t cats?

You watch as Grim pulls an actual can of tune out of nowhere, everyone else seems to smile like that’s perfectly normal and acts amused by his attitude. You’re still stuck on the fact that this cat apparently has access to an interdimensional pocket realm that he uses to store tuna in. 

“Ugh, hashtag fail! Now that we've lost a power player, we’ll have to redo our team roster.” 

The Hunting Season duo visibly perks up, large grins overtaking their faces as they both seem to celebrate this new information. “Wait, what?!” 

Someone knocks on the door and opens it seconds later, you feel your stomach drop at the heart-shaped bangs and immediately try to sink into the floor. It doesn’t open up and swallow you whole, nor does Riddle Rosehearts turn out to be a figment of your imagination. 

“Why are there so many people here? Trey’s supposed to be resting!” The Prefect immediately moves to explain, fidgeting with their thumbs nervously. “We were just here to check up on Trey and ask him how he was doing.” 

“Hm,” Riddle hums, seeming to accept this answer before those stony eyes land on you. His brows furrow as confusion overtakes his expression. “And what are you doing here? I don’t believe we have any tutoring sessions scheduled for today.” 

Like you’d ever willingly come to Heartslabyul to study. Sure this place was pretty, but it was too Rosehearts-y for you. On the walk over you had been terrified that Riddle would just pop up and decide you were breaking some inane rule just by existing in the same pocket of space as him and collar you. 

(Though, allegedly, he doesn’t do that anymore.) 

“I was here to ask Trey some questions about his accident on the Headmage’s request.” 

The room is silent for around five seconds before Riddle decides that is acceptable and turns his attention back onto the others, “How are you doing, Trey? Can I bring you anything to eat or drink?” 

You wanted to be snarky and say Trey just fell down the stairs and was mildly hurt, it wasn’t like he had gone off to war and came back with a missing leg. You, wisely, choose not to say any of that though. 

“I told you Riddle: You don’t need to fuss over me like this.” You couldn’t imagine being mother henned by Riddle, Trey must have the patience of a saint. “But it’s my fault that you got hurt.” 

…

RIDDLE PUSHED TREY DOWN THE STAIRS???

“Woah? He didn’t tell us that part!” Riddle’s jaw clenches at Ace’s outburst, his gloved grip tightening around his elbows. “I needed to talk to him, so I went to the junior classroom at lunch. And then…” 

Okay so Riddle didn't push Trey down the stairs. Or he's just really good at hiding it and Trey is protecting him for some reason.

“It was like your body wasn’t listening to you?” You provide, quoting Trey from earlier. There was obviously some sort of magic involved, Riddle’s retelling of the events all but confirmed it in your mind, but neither he nor Trey had seen anyone casting a spell. In fact, it sounds like the two of them were basically alone when it happened!

(Affirming your Riddle pushed Trey theory...But maybe you're just looking for a monster in the clone of your most hated past life rival...

Okay. That's a little too self-aware. You acknowledge the thought and quickly chuck it in a box, never to be seen again.)

“Trey never would’ve slipped if he hadn’t caught me.” 

“Mm…” Riddle isn't the type to be so clumsy, the guy walks around with at least an inch high heel and manages to be both elegant and terrifying. It just wasn't like him to suddenly fall, and right before a big game too?

Something was definitely wrong with this situation.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t, you would’ve just broken your fall with a flight spell.” Trey smiles in a way you imagine is supposed to be comforting, gently adjusting his glasses as he looks at Riddle fondly. “It was stupid of me to intervene. So you don’t owe me anything.” 

“Still, I…” 

You turn, surprised to find Yuu already facing you, their eyes boring holes into you. For some reason you get the feeling that they're not looking at you, but through you, like they're focusing on two things at once. “This definitely doesn’t sound like an accident, right?” 

Why were they asking you of all the people in this room? “It—“

“Riddle, come on!” Cater finally leaves his spot from behind you and lays a hand on Riddle’s shoulder. “It’s not gonna do anyone any good to have you harshing the vibe here. It’s lame that Trey got hurt, but you’ll rock the field that much harder to make up for him, right?” 

“Well…I suppose that’s true.” 

And after that whole thing is settled, Cater ushers you and the first-years out and into a lounge room. 

Of course he snuck his number onto your phone. “wanna get lunch w me?” It's such a simple message, it immediately puts you on guard. Sure, Ruggie was an acquaintance, but getting lunch together seemed like a friends thing. 

“Am I buying?” 

“you know it 😋” 

“I don’t got the money for two biggies like us” 

“What’s a ‘biggie?’” 

Ruggie’s been slowly exposing you to more internet slang since his realization that you are someone who’s never touched something like Magicam. He sneaks in nonsensical words like ‘’biggies’’ into your conversations and always has an explanation ready for you, he even seems to look forward to whenever you ask about slang you heard in class. 

“don’t worry about it, biggie” 

“sooooooooo?” 

“are you buying me lunch or what?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve got a lot of work to do…” You’ve steadily been chipping away at your pile of worksheets, but the essays aren’t as easy to just get over with. You’re going to put your phone down and get back to work when it buzzes in your hand again, Ruggie’s dopey grin staring you down. 

“I can’t believe youre abandoning me in my hour of need??” 

“twin I am STARVING” 

“don’t let your little buddy starve!” 

He is actually so annoying. 

Ruggie’s thrown an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close like he’s afraid you might run off and he’ll lose out on lunch. The lunch that is supposed to be free, but apparently that only applies to the small portions the kitchen ghosts hand out. If you’ve got a big appetite, then you’re pretty much doomed. 

You’re here, trapped by the weight of Ruggie’s arm, because you cannot in fact let your “little buddy” starve. If only you weren’t so desperate for a friend to keep the one person who doesn’t seem inclined to hate you nearby. What’s the saying, “Keep your situational friendships closer” or something like that?

“What do you want?” You ask roughly, wallet in hand and soul ready to leave your body. Ruggie peruses the buffet-style set up, you imagine he’s calculating how much money you’re willing to spend on him. A dish catches your eye and you move to take—

“I’ll take one of these!” Ruggie shoves a chicken sandwich onto your (shared) tray, and when you look back the dish you had been eyeing was gone. It’s fine, you’ll just get— “Oh, and a side of this!” The hyena forces yet another plate onto your tray, and you can only watch in disdain as someone swipes up another dish you’d wanted. 

“I’m being ragebaited.” Ruggie looks up with pure joy at your sentence, “Oh hey, that’s a new word for ya!” You want to knock that dorky smile off his face, but you also don’t? The emotions are contradictory and it's a new feeling to not absolutely despise or be annoyed by someone.

You never would’ve thought Ruggie and you would make a good duo. He was creative and adapted to your dry wit easily, always knowing just what buttons of yours to push to keep you hooked. He also had his funny moments, but you would rather die than ever admit that to anyone. 

“I’m gonna hit someone.” 

“Let’s not do that before I get Leona’s grilled cheese, ‘Kay buddy?” You raise a brow, did he expect you to pay for his housewarden’s lunch? “I am not paying for Leona's lunch.” 

Ruggie gasps and glares at you with mock offense, a playful tilt of his lips stretching across his face. “I would never ask you too! Shihihi, nah buddy, Leona gave me funds for his sandwich so no worries.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink and starts waving you off, “Go pay for our junk and get us some seats, yeah? Imma go get that grilled cheese and then we can chow down!” 

“If you’re not back in ten I’m eating your casserole.” 

You find an area fairly removed from the bustle of the cafeteria, the table isn’t sticky, and the chairs don’t creak dangerously when you lean back to wait for Ruggie. All in all it’s a good spot, you might make this your table if Ruggie keeps dragging you around to buy him lunch. 

You poke at the stuffed bread to pass the time, Ruggie had actually recommended you try it and seeing as your other options kept being snatched away? You had silently taken the dish and resigned yourself to trying something new. 

Now, you didn’t consider yourself a picky eater. You just preferred to partake in textures and flavors you already knew you liked. On the other hand maybe you are somewhat picky. 

The click of a camera forces you from your thoughts. 

A ginger leans over your table, his camera out as he admires your plate. “You’ve got some amaze taste! OMG, your food is so magicam-able!” 

(You have to stop yourself from trying to punch the guy after a certain ginger freshman flashes in your mind…) 

You visibly bluescreen, trying to understand the Heartslabyul student who speaks like he’s from a different planet. Amaze? Omg? Magicam-able? You don’t even think that last one is a word.

“Uh, thanks?” It sounds more like a question but the ginger beams sunnily at you, you seriously think about investing in some sunglasses. “Totes! I should be thanking you ngl, can I post these to my Magicam? Actually gimme your user so I can tag you!”

You robotically rattle off the page Ruggie forced you to make and he grins, “Cool! BTW I’m Cater, but you can call me Cay-Cay!” 

You are not calling him that.

You don’t even have a nickname for Ruggie, basically the only person you’d be comfortable giving one, and using one as childish as Cay-Cay? It might genuinely put you in a grave. 

“…Hi, Cater, I have no nicknames so just call me by my name.” 

“Awwh!” Sympathy drips off the man in droves as he seems to come to a realization: You’re one of those people. He had wondered what you were doing shoved away in this admittedly well-lit corner, turns out you’re just a misplaced introvert! “No nicknames? Not even a little one like ‘cutie’ or ‘sweetie?’ You look like a sweetie!” 

You’re going to tell him off and demand that he never call you that again, but then you make eye contact with Ruggie who stands just a few feet away. The hyena’s face is visibly red, his chest rising and falling with wheezy, half-formed cackles. Over Cater’s shoulder, he mouths at you, “Sweetie?” 

You might need to start digging that grave. 

“No, nobody calls me anything and I prefer it that way.” 

“Well you clearly don’t have good friends!” You have one friend and he is laughing at you. And you paid for that damn hyena’s lunch! “Hey buddy, I leave for five minutes and you’ve already replaced me?” 

Ruggie genuinely sounds hurt as he approaches you and the ginger, his hand folded over his heart while his ears are pinned against his sandy curls. “I’m hurt, didn’t know I was so expendable to my own best buddy!” 

Let the record state you are not his best anything, and that you’ve disowned this man on account of his blatant betrayal. You don’t know why, but Cater seems really happy you actually do have a friend, even if he seems kinda sleazy. “Oh hey! I was just keeping your bud company, nice to know they weren’t actually alone!” 

“Shihihi, yeahhh, buddy over there likes to self-isolate in corners. No worries, they’re right where they wanna be.” 

“OMG, I have a cute little junior just like that, I bet they’d get along!” 

The two talk over you as Ruggie plants his hip on the table, the lean line of his body pitching against you while he wraps an arm around your shoulder. It's an utterly shameless pda, which you refuse to like because that will only encourage this behavior, and the ginger momentarily coos over both you and Ruggie. At least Ruggie seems kinda icked out by that too. It’s the small things! 

Cater and him chat about you specifically, and the way they speak kind of reminds you of the way two moms swap stories about their antisocial kids. You just wanted to eat some good food, man.

“See ya!” 

“TTYL!” 

Oh thank the Seven one of them is gone. Except that does leave you alone with Ruggie, who still leans heavily on your side, he even has the gall to rest his elbow on your head. It’s a position that he seems way too comfortable with. 

You gave him an inch and he took a mile. 

“I woulda rescued you sooner, sweetie, but ya looked like you were havin’ so much fun!” No, you weren’t, and the dastardly hyena knew that. You glare at him, harshly shoving your fork into your bread and you hope all your violent thoughts are appropriately communicated. “Hey, c’mon! Leave your poor food alone, I swear ya don’t appreciate the things I get for ya…” 

“I bought this, and get offa me you’re clinging—“ You shake Ruggie off, waving him away when he tries to slip his hand back onto your shoulder. He was the touchiest person you had ever known, and it was somewhat jarring. “Yeahhhhh, but I picked it out for ya! So it’s the thought that counts, ain’t that right?” 

The answer he gets is a glare and the sight of you further mutilating your meal. The “thought” doesn’t amount to much if you were the one who spent a good chunk of madol in that lunch line. 

“Okay, okay, I hear your complaints, and imma promise to scrape up some madol for ya. Are we cool?” You stare him down, trying to see if the hyena was actually being genuine. You’re not actually sure what you see in those blue-gray eyes that makes you believe him, but you sigh and stop torturing your food. 

“…Yeah, fine, we’re cool. Did you get Leona his sandwich?” Ruggie flashes you a grin and a thumbs up, holding up the sandwich like a trophy. “You know it! You wanna run this over to him with me after we eat?” 

“Don’t you have Spelldrive practice?” You deadpan at the hyena as he deflates dramatically, his body flopping onto the table. “Aww man, ya just had to remind me! Man, I’ve got so much to do today.” 

A tiny flicker of guilt pulses through you, then the annoyance overpowers it. “If you’re so busy then I guess you should take your food and go, hm?” 

“Meh…” 

Ruggie starts to eat and you follow his example at a much slower pace, picking at the stuffing of the bread and rolling it around on your plate. You find yourself sitting there, counting down the minutes until Ruggie runs off to one of his jobs and you can get back to your schoolwork. 

You’re not…as excited to split off from him as you might’ve been a few days ago. 

“Oh hey, I know how we can keep hangin’ out! Just come to Spelldrive practice!” 

You raise a brow, “And do what? I’m not exactly the most athletic, I’d just be watching like some creep.” 

Ruggie grins cheekily, “Yeah but you’ll be my creep, we’ll get ya some Savanaclaw merch and bam! I got my own Spelldrive cheerleader!” 

“Yeah no, never gonna happen.” 

“Awh, c’mon!” 

Later that night, as your roommates sleep, you quietly sit on your bed, scrolling on your phone. You were a part of Scarabia, you’d be expected to wear your Dorm colors during their matches.