#sit spin

Tim follows a specific schedule.

At 6, he gets up, gets dressed, and brushes his teeth.

At 6:30, he runs out of the house to go to work at Wayne Industries with a cup of coffee in hand. At the age of 17, he’s their youngest official worker (and he basically runs the company.)

At 12:30, he stops for a quick lunch break.

At 7, he saves all changes and leaves the building.

And at 7:30, he goes to one of the many indoor ice rinks of Gotham owned by Oswald Cobblepot. And he’s not there to skate, Time doesn’t even like skating.

No, he’s there for the blonde skater who’s always there at 7:30 helping kids out.

She’s certainly not the best skater there (but this rink is for enjoyment, not professionals), but she’s the only one who’s has that positivity just radiating off of her. She’s the only one who truly looks content, just skating gracefully while the other groups whiz by her, laughing and cheering. She’s the only one who doesn’t laugh when a kid falls but squats in front of them, coaxing them to skate, gently leading them through the rink.

She’s the only one he’s there to see.

Tim first saw her when Dick dragged him and the rest of the family there, insisting that they go for “family bonding” and “joy that can only come from gliding on ice.”

Jason had told him he was full of shit, and Tim agreed whole-heartedly.

When he did go though, he saw the blonde skating by herself and nearly fainted.

The light had been hitting her at just the right angle, highlighting her cheekbones and showing off the contours of her face. She moved languidly, legs gracefully gliding on top of the ice and no Dick he was not staring.

Somehow, he’d learned that she comes around at 7:30, there to skate by herself but also willing to help the little kids out.

Those times when she does help the children skate, compassion written on her face, they’re nice to watch. But his favorite times are when she’s left alone to skate. There, she starts to loosen up, relaxing until a small smile graces upon he face and she moves freely, like there’s not a trouble in the world.

He’s content to just watch her on the side as she laughs and spins.

But she’s not.

“Hey you, what’s the deal?” She snaps, glaring at him from the rink. “You’ve been watching me skate for weeks. Do you have anything to say?”

Blue, he realizes, staring at her. He’s never been this close to her before. Her eyes were blue, like the sky on days where clouds are nowhere to be seen and there’s a light breeze and-

“Well?” She demands, eyebrows arching. “Are you going to answer me?”

Tim flushes and offers her a flustered compliment on her skating (it stills earns him a smile though, and Tim goes him that day with spirits soaring.)

Afterwards, she always makes sure to greet him with a cheery “hello” and a blinding smile. They’d sit on the side together and just talk, first about ice skating, then about their day, their lives, their families.

Tim would watch her talk, her hands moving animatedly, her cheeks flushed, and feel this unknown sensation bubble up in his chest.

He’d still come everyday, watching her skate. She got a little more daring, executing more spins and jumps than normal (he’s not complaining, strangely enough he finds himself liking the way her legs flex, her back arch, her arms stretch.)

He loves seeing the delight and cheer on her face when she perfects a spin (his favorite is when she mastered the flying sit spin, she was so excited that she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He went home with his head in the clouds.)

It’s December 31st and he’s walking by the ice rink when he notices the light inside (he’s pretty sure the ice rink shouldn’t be open on New Year’s Eve). He’s surprised to see Steph there, getting ready to start a spin before the door slams close.

She starts and her feet come out beneath her, crashing onto the floor.

Tim is by her side in seconds, gently helping her up and spewing out apologies faster than she can understand.

He pulls her up, careful to not hurt her and she stands up and oh.

She’s close to him. Like, really close. Like if he just tilted his head he’d be able to kiss her close.

Like Steph standing on her tiptoes and pressing her lips up against his mouth close. Like Tim kissing back with all he’s got while fireworks herald in the new year close. Like Tim’s hands sliding down to fit perfectly onto her hips close.

They break apart, breathing heavily.

“Happy New Year Tim,” Steph whispers, gently leaning up to kiss his lips one more time before walking away, humming one song or another.