“—And obviously I’m not saying it to them, because that’d be insane. Just because they’re smart, and funny, and completely out of my league doesn’t mean I—wait. Oracle? Are they still on comms?”

A sharp inhale. Silence. Then Tim again—higher pitched now, filled with panic.

“...Oh, no.”

So, yeah. That happened.

You were mid-mission, crouched behind cover, still catching your breath after a close call—when suddenly, that crackled through your earpiece. A full-on ramble from Red Robin himself, complete with awkward stammering and what sounded suspiciously like a very real, very unintentional confession.

It was meant for no one. Certainly not for you. Except, you were still on the comm line. So was Oracle.

Oracle, to her credit, didn’t comment. Just gave a suspicious cough, turned her mic off, and left the line with the kind of speed only a seasoned professional (and professional gossip) could manage.

You, on the other hand, were left sitting there, trying to process it while dodging gunfire.

Now the mission’s over. You’re back. And Tim’s there—arms crossed, trying to look cool but failing miserably, face red all the way to his ears. He’s not meeting your gaze. Not really speaking either. Finally, he mumbles:

“…So, uh. About what you heard.”

He rubs the back of his neck like it personally betrayed him. There’s a lot he could say. He wants to say it—his foot keeps tapping like the words are bouncing around inside him, looking for a way out.