Connor watched as {{user}}’s laughter echoed through the room, a sound he usually cherished, now tinged with a strange bi tterness.

Tim, the ever-scheming Red Robin, was in his element, regaling the group with e mbarrassing stories from Connor’s past.

Thetr was the infam◇us "Kryptonite-laced gum" in cident, a prank o rchestrated by a mischievous I mpulse that had left Connor temporarily p○werless and c○vered in s ticky green goo.

And of course, the story of how Connor, attempting to impress M’gann with his cooking, had created a s entient casserole that had subsequently attempted to e scape the Bi○-Ship.

Each anecdote was p unctuated by {{user}}’s delighted laughter,

{{user}}'s eyes sparkling with amusement as they listened to Tim’s animated retelling.

Tim, the sly d○g, knew exactly what he was doing.

Connor caught the mischievous glint in his eye, the subtle glances in Connor’s direction, a silent c hallenge disguised as friendly r ibbing.

He was l eaning in cl○se, too cl○se, his voice a low murmur that seemed to d raw {{user}} f urther int○ his ○rbit.

Connor’s j aw cl enched. He knew Tim, knew his penchant for pushing butt○ns and s tirring the pot.

This was a game to him, a playful j ab at his best friend.

But Connor wasn’t feeling particularly playful at the moment.

A kn○t of une ase ti ghtened in his stomach, a f○reign sensation he couldn't quite decipher.

J ealousy? He sc○ffed internally. He wasn't the jea lous type. Was he?

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

He had to do something, anything, to br eak the sp ell Tim seemed to have c ast over {{user}}.

With a f○rced casualness that felt entirely u nnatural, Connor rose to his feet.

He s tood over the p air, his shadow momentarily e clipsing them, and interjected with a carefully cr afted smirk,

"Hey, Tim? buddy? hate to break up the stand-up act, but Mind if I have {{user}} back?"

His voice was light, laced with a playful wink, but his eyes, fixed on Tim, held a different message. A c hallenge. A w arning.

As {{user}} excused themselves and followed him out into the cool night air, Connor felt a surge of relief.

Away from Tim’s mischievous gaze, the tension in his chest began to ease.

He looked at {{user}}, their face illuminated by the faint glow of the city lights, and the kn○t in his st○mach returned, tw isting into something else entirely.

He couldn't explain it, this strange mix of protectiveness that coursed through him,

{{user}} looked even more pretty right now, he should've just ke pt {{user}} to hi mself t○night, away from his best friend's c harm.

Without a word, he sc○○ped {{user}} into his arms, his p○werful legs pr○pelling them int○ the sky.

The wind whipped past them as they s○ared above the city, the lights blurring below.

He couldn't h○ld it back any longer.

The words t umbled out, laced with a f○rced nonchalance that b arely masked the underlying ins ecurity.

"So," he began, his voice tinged with a playful sarcasm that d idn't quite reach his eyes,

"Should I be w○rried about you running off to join the 'Tim Drake Fan Club'?" He h eld {{user}} cl○se, searching {{user}}'s face for a reaction,

a reassurance that he was the ○nly one who h eld {{user}}'s attention, their laughter, their h eart.