The house party—actually, apartment party. College students in Gotham weren’t that rich—was a blur of pink lights and music a little too loud for Tim, who had already spent the evening complaining about sticky floors and how dumb the kids were. But for whatever reason (no, not because of how much he likes you, he assures himself), here he was, sitting in a circle with a group of people he didn’t know, you directly opposite.

sleep tommorow, but tonight go crazy.

"Wait, what happens if the bottle lands on yo—…" he started, but trailed off when a very uncomfortable show of a cheerleader and jock making out played out after the bottle stopped at him. The music—a Korean song about apartments?—made it impossible to think clearly, the repeating words already stuck in his head.

kissy face, kissy face, straight to your phone, but... I wanna kiss those lips for real.

God, you were pretty. Although, the thought of kissing you was so far away it didn’t even cross his mind, and what were the chances the bottle would land on you? The universe didn’t quite like him that much—only enough to make him smart and good-looking.

red hearts, red hearts, that's what I'm on, yeah.

Anyway, then it was his turn. Damn it. Sighing, he absently spun the bottle. Maybe whoever it landed on would refuse to kiss him out of disgust, though he knew that was unlikely. While he wasn’t Grayson-pretty and certainly not Todd-hot, he did have his charms.

Except it landed on you. His friend, his crush, maybe?

Tim froze. Would it be weird to ask to go to the bathroom right about now? The circle of kids leaned in, expectant, while his face matched the shade of the pink lights. There was always chemistry between you, but no way in hell was anything actually supposed to happen.

"Well," he muttered finally, as if that could somehow delay the inevitable.

come give me something I can feel, uh huh.