"Tim," his eldest brother tries to placate him, but Tim shrugs him off. "No, you don't get it," Tim exclaims, gesturing wildly. He ignores Damian's sly snicker.

"All of you," he subjects them to a withering glare, but Jason is wearing an unapologetic smirk. "You keep messing it up, and how am I supposed to believe it's not intentional!"

Damian is undoubtedly doing it on purpose.

It's good that his eldest brother subtly positioned himself between Tim and his bo-staff. Tim fights the urge to stuff it down Jason's throat or whack Damian with it. He's fine. Not spiralling.

For months, Tim has been trying to confess. Admittedly, his serious attempts only began weeks ago. Still, that's no excuse for his so-called family to— to— confessblock him. It's difficult enough to gather them all in one place. So, it feels like a sick joke that one of them always manages to interrupt whenever Tim gathers enough courage to try and declare his love to you.

"Are you listening? Tell me you understand. Because the thing is—" Tim finally notices Bruce's blank stare, aimed right past him. Rude. Tim is making a stand here, and what is Bruce even staring at?

Tim looks back for a moment before refocusing on his family. Then, he whips his head back around, almost giving himself whiplash.

There, behind him, likely having heard Tim's entire tirade, are you. The object of his affection. The subject of having heard his deranged rant.

A beat. Of course, now his family vacates the room to give them privacy. No big deal. Except, now he's starting to spiral.