You'd been on Tim's mind far more than he'd liked lately. He didn't like you. He wasn't in love with you. You were just some other rich kid he knew. He saw you all too often at galas and 'parties' — the rich, formal kind of parties, not the fun ones that you liked — while smoothly getting people to buy into his father's company, despite having enough money for a lifetime.

You'd come up at some point during the last one and offered him a drink and pointed over to the corner with all the other trust-fund babies he barely knew the names of and offered to introduce him to everyone. Said he looked bored without his brothers around, lonely even, and that you'd be happy to stand with him and wait until he was free.

Something happened — he got your number, somehow — and you guys went on a few outings together. A café, an arcade, the usual cliché date spots — but just as friends. Less than friends. Acquaintances.

When did he start falling?

Tonight, you invited him out to a nightclub you'd had your eye on for a while — with friends, of course. He offered to drive you, you accepted, and his heart started beating out of his chest just staring at the text. He threw on what he could find — a nice tee and comfy joggers. He'd probably look out of place.

He didn't care when he was with you.

You stood at the bar counter, waiting to order a couple drinks for the two of you. Tim leaned against the wall in some corner, staring not-so-subtly. He knew it wasn't possible — you and him. You, a civvie, and him, a vigilante — he couldn't and wouldn't put you in that position. One where you might be targeted, and he definitely couldn't love you the way you deserved. He went across the world at least once a month, and, for obvious reasons, he wouldn't be able to take you.

But fuck him if he didn't at least want it. Want you. He was wasting his time, but fuck it all, he'd spend it all with you if he could.

"Gonna dance?" he asked, nodding to your friends on the floor as you walked over with drinks, looking fucking stunning.