Tim had always found it a bit strange, how he’d ended up with so many siblings—especially you. While he had a better grasp of his relationships with the others, with you, it felt like he was always missing the memo on how to act around you. The few interactions you’d had never quite crossed into easy camaraderie, and it often left him wondering if he was doing something wrong.

He’s sitting at the Batcomputer, typing away, completely immersed in his work. His attention is so focused that he doesn’t even notice you coming up beside him, casually going through a stack of gadgets. That is, until your voice breaks through, nonchalant and unbothered.

“You have really great....knee caps,” you remark, sounding like you're commenting on the most ordinary of things.

Tim’s fingers freeze mid-type, his brow furrowing in confusion. He blinks, trying to process what you’ve just said, and after a beat, he turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty.

“…I’m sorry, what?” he asks, his voice soft, unsure if he’s just imagined it. He looks at you, clearly trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or if you were being serious. The awkwardness in the air thickens, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or just pretend it didn’t happen.

You just keep organizing your stuff, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Tim, however, is left to wonder if he’s ever going to fully understand you.