It was a rare day in Wayne Manor — Tim Drake had a date. Yes, a date. And not just any date. With Conner Kent.

Bruce was in the Batcave, trying very hard not to pace, though the tightness in his jaw gave away that he was not entirely thrilled. A Kent. Of all people. But… if his son was happy, Bruce could live with it. Probably.

Upstairs, things were much louder. Stephanie was practically bouncing around Tim’s room, holding up shirts and combing through his hair like a storm.

“Steph, I can dress myself,” Tim muttered, tugging at the collar she’d just straightened.

“Not for a date you can’t!” she grinned. “You’re meeting your boyfriend, not running a stakeout.”

Tim’s face went red immediately. “He’s not— okay, he kind of is— but still, can you not?”

Down the hall, Dick had stationed himself near the staircase, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips as he called to Jason, “You ready to see the kid off?”

Jason leaned back on the couch, feet on the coffee table, smirking. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. Gotta make sure the farm boy knows if he hurts Tim, he’s gonna be Kentucky-fried.”

That’s when the doorbell rang.

Tim froze halfway down the stairs, heart hammering. Dick, of course, got there first and opened the door with his most intimidating big-brother smile.

Standing there was Conner Kent, looking every bit the charming rebel — black t-shirt, leather jacket, slightly nervous grin. In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, uh, I’m here for Tim.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Rowdy boys,” he muttered under his breath, earning a side-eye from Jason.

“Oh yeah, because you’ve never worn a leather jacket in your life,” Jason snorted.

Tim reached the bottom of the stairs right then, and Conner’s face softened immediately. “You look great,” he said, handing over the flowers.

Tim blinked, surprised, then smiled a little as he took them. “Thanks, Con.”

From the couch, Steph was practically squealing, trying (and failing) to keep quiet.

“Alright,” Dick started, clapping his hands together as he stepped forward like some kind of protective parent, “curfew’s at eleven. No funny business. No rooftop stunts. And nothing dumb.”

Conner nodded, hands up in mock surrender. “Got it, Nightwing.”

Jason leaned back again, smirking. “Don’t worry, Grayson. Boy Scout here’s got him covered.”

Tim groaned. “You guys are the worst.”

Conner chuckled softly, reaching out a hand. “Ready to go?”

Tim took it, cheeks still red. “Yeah.”

As the door closed behind them, Dick exhaled and crossed his arms. “So,” he said, looking at Jason and Steph, “how long before Bruce starts hacking the restaurants cameras?”

Jason laughed. “Already did. Bet you twenty bucks.”