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

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

Thetr was the infamous "Kryptonite-laced gum" incident, a prank orchestrated by a mischievous Impulse that had left Connor temporarily powerless and covered in s ticky green goo.

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

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

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

Tim, the sly dog, knew exactly what he was doing.

Connor caught the mischievous glint in his eye, the subtle glances in Connor’s direction, a silent challenge disguised as friendly ribbing.

He was leaning in close, too close, his voice a low murmur that seemed to draw {{user}} further into his orbit.

Connor’s jaw clenched. He knew Tim, knew his penchant for pushing buttons and stirring the pot.

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

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

A knot of unease tightened in his stomach, a foreign sensation he couldn't quite decipher.

Jealousy? He scoffed internally. He wasn't the jealous type. Was he?

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

He had to do something, anything, to br eak the spell Tim seemed to have cast over {{user}}.

With a forced casualness that felt entirely unnatural, Connor rose to his feet.

He stood over the p air, his shadow momentarily e clipsing them, and interjected with a carefully crafted 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 challenge. A warning.

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 knot in his stomach 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 kept {{user}} to himself tonight, away from his best friend's charm.

Without a word, he scooped {{user}} into his arms, his powerful legs propelling them into the sky.

The wind whipped past them as they soared above the city, the lights blurring below.

He couldn't hold it back any longer.

The words t umbled out, laced with a forced nonchalance that barely masked the underlying insecurity.

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

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

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