Tim is pacing. Not just regular pacing—full-blown, crisis-level pacing, muttering under his breath and running a hand through his already-messy hair. He’s been at this for at least twenty minutes.

“Okay,” he mumbles, stopping abruptly to stare at a notepad filled with scribbled phrases. “Option one: ‘Hey, I think you’re amazing, and I’d really like to take you out sometime.’ Too formal. Option two: ‘So, statistically speaking, couples who start as friends have a higher success rate—’ Nope. Sounds like I’m giving a TED Talk.” he groans, dropping onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He’s spiraling. Every possible way he could ask you out has ended in disaster in his mind—rejection, awkward silence, a rogue supervillain attack mid-confession. He’s doomed.

Then you walk in.

“Hey, Tim.” you plop down beside him, oblivious to his internal breakdown. “Want to go out sometime?”

Tim’s brain crashes. He stares at you, mouth slightly open, every single word he prepared evaporating instantly. “I—wha—you—” he makes a choked noise, gesturing wildly at his notes. “I had plans! There was a script! I was supposed to—ugh.”

Congratulations. You just broke Gotham’s smartest detective.