For a fake date, Tim was surprisingly good at making the whole charade seem real.

How he ended up at your aunt's fifth wedding was... a long story.

You'd showed up at the door of the manor the other day, already blabbering when Alfred opened the door and never slowing your rant when Tim finally came downstairs.

He was the first person you came to because... well, he had a lot of suits. And you guys were 'married.'

You asked if he remembered the covert op in Vegas. He said yeah. The whole squadron had gone to a casino for shits and giggles — a Vegas cliche. And taken pictures.

In one, the glass of alcohol he was definitely too young to be holding glinted just right, giving the impression of a ring shining on his left hand while your own arm was around his waist as he held you close to his side. In another, he'd asked you to kiss the dice for good luck — for fun, obviously. You were leaning over him, grinning as you pressed them to your lips, both your left hands hidden behind the table as Tim gazed up at you with focus so intense, he could've lasered through your skull.

When you were looking at the pictures in the group chat the next day at a family function, your (nosy) aunt may or may not have seen them. Obviously, you couldn't just tell her what really happened and while you were grasping at straws—

"What, she just assumed we eloped in Vegas?" Tim asked you, absent-mindedly clinking his champagne flute with one of your awestruck cousins without so much of a glance. You finally decided to answer his questions during the wedding. "And you just... didn't bother to correct her. For three years. Dude— Babe," he corrected smoothly, "how could you keep this from me for three years?”

Your pace together paused and you were faltering again, grasping at straws — it didn't help that Tim's hand found a place on your neck, creeping up to your jawline as he loomed over. His gaze narrowed just slightly. "We are so talking later," he said, swooping in to kiss the corner of your lips — just to sell the act.