Tim Drake sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers flying over the keyboard. Gotham’s crime reports and Bat-tech schematics sprawled across every screen, but his attention was split—he kept glancing at you.

“You know,” he said without looking up, voice calm and precise, “technically, staring at me like that could be considered a security risk.”

You laughed, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the faint pink creeping across his cheeks. “A security risk? Really, Timmy? You love it when I distract you.”

He huffed, adjusting his glasses and refusing to meet your eyes, though his hands trembled slightly as he typed. “I… I am attempting to focus. And yet—your presence is… statistically disruptive. Quite effective.”

You stepped closer, smirking, “So… I’m your favorite kind of threat?”

Tim finally looked up, green eyes locking with yours, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I… suppose you are. The kind of threat I’d actually like to calculate risks for. The kind I’d… want to spend time with.”

You grinned, moving to sit beside him, elbow brushing his. “Sounds like you’re saying I’m your boyfriend material.”

He blinked, then smirked back, letting his usual logical walls drop just a little. “Yes. But only if you promise not to blow up the Batcave while I’m distracted.” You leaned in, teasing, “No promises.”

Tim sighed, half exasperated, half utterly captivated, “Of course… I’d let you destroy it anyway. Just… don’t break my heart in the process.”

For a second, the hum of computers faded, the gadgets went silent, and it was just you, him, and the quiet acknowledgment that this careful, calculated boy had a chaos-shaped place in his heart reserved entirely for you.