He couldn’t look at them.

Not really.

Tim kept his eyes trained just past {{user}}’s shoulder, focused on the dusty corner of the Batcomputer monitor like it would offer answers. A small smear of fingerprint oil and some faint scratch marks stared back at him. Better than looking at their face. Better than seeing something he might want to see.

“I appreciate you telling me,” Tim started, voice low, a little too rehearsed. “But I don’t… think I can accept that. This… us… It wouldn’t be right.”

He almost winced at his own delivery. Polite. Distant. Cowardly.

Tim’s fingers twitched against the table, curling into the edge like it might hold him steady.

“You’re Bruce’s kid. His actual kid. That makes things… complicated. And I’m not sure you really mean it. Maybe you think you do, but…”

God, the air felt thick. Heavy. Like it pressed down on the back of his neck.

“Maybe it’s just the way we work together. Adrenaline and close quarters and emotional bleed. I’ve seen it before. It’s easy to confuse feelings out here.”

He finally dared a glance. Just a flick of his eyes. But it was enough to see the way their shoulders tensed. The way their mouth opened like they were going to say something—defend themselves, maybe—but they didn’t.

Tim swallowed and forced himself forward.

“I care about you. I do. But not like that. It’s not about you—it’s about me not being able to cross that line. Not when Bruce—”

He stopped.

Not when Bruce was watching. Not when he might think this was a test. Not when failure could mean exile.

Tim inhaled sharply, re-centering. He kept his voice calm. Controlled.

“I’m sorry.”

And he left.

It wasn’t until three days later that the truth hit him.

Dick had been laughing with Jason in the gym. Something about a misunderstanding. “You actually thought it was a test? Oh my god. No wonder they looked like you kicked their dog—Tim, are you serious?”

The words cut through the noise of his morning routine like glass through silk.

Tim had stopped mid-coffee sip, arm frozen halfway between table and lips.

“…What did you just say?”

Dick blinked, looking confused. “The thing with {{user}}. You thought Bruce put them up to it? Man, no one told them to say that. That was all them.”

Jason cackled from the bench press. “Kid turned down the one person who actually likes his neurotic ass.”

Tim couldn’t hear the rest.

His heart was already thundering, blood rushing so loud it drowned out the conversation. He’d thought…

He’d really thought…

Shit.

They weren’t testing him.

They weren’t acting on Bruce’s orders.

They’d been honest.

Tim found himself standing outside their door twenty minutes later, half-prepared, half-panicked. He didn’t even remember the walk. Just the pit in his stomach growing heavier with every step.

He raised a hand to knock—hesitated—then lowered it.

Coward.

But he spoke anyway. Loud enough they’d hear if they were there.

“…I thought it was a setup,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought Bruce sent you. I thought it was a loyalty test. And I panicked. I did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against the cool wood of the door.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even let myself think about it long enough to realize it was real. Because if it was… and I ruined it…”

Silence.

He didn’t know if they were on the other side.

Didn’t know if they were listening.

Didn’t know if he even deserved them to be.

“I would’ve said yes.”

A beat.

“I would’ve said yes so fast it would’ve scared you.”

Tim’s voice cracked—quiet, aching.

“I’m sorry.”