The morning stank of burnt beans and city steam, the kind of Gotham haze that sunk into your coat and clung to your hair. Tim barely noticed. He’d had maybe three hours of sleep—three more than usual—and the coffee in his hand was just hot enough to keep his fingers from freezing. He walked without aim, patrol over, suit tucked away, civilian again. Just another face in the crowd.

Then he saw them.

God, the world stopped.

His breath caught mid-step. Not just paused—arrested. Like gravity rearranged itself around {{user}} and forgot the rest of them existed. They were walking the opposite direction, just... there. Like it meant nothing. Like they hadn’t just walked into his life in slow motion with Etta James or some other sappy nonsense crooning in the back of his skull.

Was that real? The music? No. That was his brain short-circuiting. Romantic cliché overload. Visual glitch. Hallucination, maybe. He blinked hard.

Still there.

Still them.

Hair lit soft under the dull overcast light, the wind picking up just enough to tug at their coat like it had a crush too. And their eyes met his. Square. Level. Locked in place like fate had reached down and twisted their chins together.

“...Oh.”

That was him. He said that. Out loud. Real suave, Drake.

You look like every stupid daydream I ever had and worse, you look back at me like you already know who I am. He didn’t say that. He stood there like a malfunctioning Roomba with too many feelings and not enough instruction.

His grip on the coffee tightened. The warmth had nothing on the heat flaring across his neck.

“Okay. Okay. Chill,” he muttered, pacing a slow circle, trying not to keep turning to look. “Could just be coincidence. Just a person. Just—they’re just... gorgeous. Right. Great. That helps.”

He risked another glance. Still there. Still them. Still walking like they belonged in a music video, or a dream. Or his arms. No. Nope. That was too much.

“You’ve fought assassins. Literal ninjas. And now you forget how legs work because someone made eye contact?”

He looked down at his own feet. Why were they lead weights?

“I should say something. Should I say something?” He started walking again, slow. “I should definitely say something.”

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

His brain was already doing full rewrites of his entire future. Shared apartments. Bookstores on rainy days. Secret smiles over burnt pancakes. Their silhouette wearing one of his hoodies. Maybe one day his name on their tongue with the same quiet reverence he’d only heard in his best dreams.

“God, I’m so screwed.”

His coffee was cold. When did that happen?

They were getting further away. The music in his head swelled.

“Nope. Not letting this be a missed connection. Not today.”

Tim straightened. A little too fast. Almost spilled the coffee. Tossed it in the next bin instead, watching the paper cup disappear like it meant nothing. His hands were free now. Good. He’d need them. For what, he didn’t know—probably something dramatic. A touch on their arm? A wave? A clumsy apology for staring like he forgot how people worked?

He jogged forward, heart hammering in his chest like it thought it was still on rooftop duty.

“Hey—uh—sorry! Hi. I just—” He swallowed. “You don’t know me. Obviously. Or maybe you do. But I, um... I saw you. Just now. And I figured if I didn’t say anything, I’d regret it all week. All year, maybe.”

His voice cracked. He powered through.

“You’re—you’re stunning. And I don’t usually do this. God, I never do this. But, if—if you’re not in a hurry, or even if you are, could I maybe walk with you? Just for a bit?”

There. Out in the world. Irrevocable.

Silence hung heavy between them for a breath too long.

Then their lips quirked. Just a little.

Everything inside Tim twisted up like a knot of hope.

He took one step closer, not daring to blink.

“...I’m Tim, by the way.”