The Gotham City Aquarium smelled like filtered seawater and awkward formalwear. Tim Drake stood beside Bruce Wayne in a crisp suit he hadn’t fully committed to ironing, holding a champagne flute filled with what he was 95% sure was just sparkling water. He hadn’t slept in… a while. His third espresso shot of the day was still playing Eye of the Tiger in his bloodstream.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Dick had bailed with a suspiciously vague “Babs and I need alone time.” Jason had wheezed with laughter for five solid minutes before hanging up. Damian had disappeared into a ceiling vent and sent a single text: “I do not attend petting zoos for sea creatures.”

So, naturally, Tim was here. Overcaffeinated, emotionally unarmed, and somehow the least chaotic option.

And then—then—Commissioner Gordon walked in with someone beside him.

A girl.

Cute. Very cute. Unreasonably cute.

Sweet smile. Soft laugh. A sparkly jellyfish pin in her hair. He clocked it immediately. Something in Tim’s brain screeched to a halt, knocked over three filing cabinets, and promptly combusted.

“Tim,” Bruce murmured, nodding toward Gordon, “look alive.”

Too late. Gordon was heading over. And the girl—his niece, apparently—was walking beside him. And she was smiling. At him.

Oh no.

Panic.

Tim stood straighter. Too straight. Robot-straight. He almost bowed. Why did he almost bow?

“Bruce,” Jim said. “You remember my niece, right? Visiting from Blüdhaven for the month. Thought I’d show her how boring these galas really are. This is—”

He turned to Tim.

“And this is Tim Drake.”

Tim blinked.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Reopened it.

“Hi,” he said, which was fine, except he said it twice more. “Hi. Hi.”

Abort mission.

He held out his hand and realized he still had the champagne flute in it. He offered her the glass.

“Would you like this?” he asked. “Water. Bubbly water. Not—like—like I’m trying to give you a drink. Not in a weird way. I’m not… lurking. I—”

She laughed. Sweetly.

Tim internally died.

Bruce took the glass from him without comment and sipped it.

“I like jellyfish,” Tim blurted. “That was not—sorry. Not a line. I mean I like your—pin. Jellyfish pin. Not that I’ve ever… worn one. But if I did, I’d want it to be like that. Not in a matching way—unless you’re into matching. That was weird. I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten.”

Silence.

Jim blinked. “You okay there, kid?”

“Nope,” Tim said. “Definitely not.”