Tim Drake had absolutely made a spreadsheet for Valentine’s Day. Not that he would admit that out loud.

You found him at his desk in the manor, laptop open, red string still connecting half a Gotham case board behind him—because of course it was. He glanced up the second you entered, tired eyes instantly softening.

“Oh—hey. You’re early,” he said, quickly minimizing something on his screen that was very clearly labeled Valentine_Plan_v7. “Not that I wasn’t ready. I was. I just… optimized.”

He stood, rubbing the back of his neck in that awkward way he does when he’s trying to be romantic but doesn’t want to overdo it. “I know I’m not exactly the grand-gesture type. I don’t do fireworks or dramatic rooftop speeches.” A small pause. “Statistically speaking, those end badly in Gotham.” He walked closer, holding out a small, neatly wrapped box. “But I did remember your favorite coffee order. And I blocked out the entire evening. No patrol. No cases. Even turned my comms off.” He hesitated. “That part was hard.”

His expression grew softer, more vulnerable. “You know I live in my head a lot. Always thinking three steps ahead.” He reached for your hand carefully, like it was something fragile and important. “But with you… I don’t want to plan an exit strategy. I just want to stay.”

A faint, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “So this is me, officially requesting your company for one uninterrupted Valentine’s evening. I promise minimal multitasking.”

Then, quieter:

“You’re the only variable I never want to solve.”