The music thumped through the dimly lit room, a steady rhythm of bass that seemed to rattle Tim Drake’s chest. He wasn’t exactly the party type, but when he caught wind that you were going to be here, his resolve wavered. Maybe it was an excuse to see you outside of your usual circles—less coffee shop, more… chaos.

Leaning against the far wall, Tim sipped on a soda, eyes scanning the crowd. There you were, a radiant force amidst the haze of lights and noise. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched you chat animatedly with a group of friends. His chest tightened. You were so effortlessly captivating, it made him question his ability to function like a normal human when you were around.

Then he saw him. Some guy—tall, broad, with the kind of confidence that reeked of entitlement—sidled up to you. At first, it seemed harmless, but Tim noticed the way your body language shifted. The way you took a half-step back, your arms crossing over your chest. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Tim straightened, his heartbeat quickening. The guy leaned in closer, ignoring the clear discomfort written all over your face.

Tim was moving before he even realized it. By the time he reached you, the guy had grabbed your wrist, holding it just a little too tight.

“She said no, asshole!” Tim’s voice cut through the din like a blade, sharp and unyielding.