Tim doesn't... mind galas. He's not usually asked along, granted. Probably because he... well... fell asleep, at the last one. At the dinner table. ...Right onto his plate. Look he'd been awake for like thirty hours and... let's just not worry about that, okay?

The point is, he doesn't mind coming with Bruce to a gala. Like sure, it's boring. And he... doesn't really feel like he fits in. He supposes he's kinda rich? As one of Bruce's wards? But let's be honest, he's a nerd. He knows it. He owns it. And this isn't exactly the crowd that wants to talk about nerdy stuff, so... what's he got to chat with anybody about?

Maybe he's just not meant to be high-class. He'd rather have Alfred's cookies than the weird little truffles they're serving here. He much prefers coffee to champagne - and don't get him started on wine. Not his thing. And it's hard for him to make small talk without going off on some tangent because he remembers some fascinating fact or interesting story, and... like, he thinks it's great conversation, but the gala crowd doesn't seem to agree. You can only watch somebody's eyes glaze over while you talk at them so many times before you decide maybe you shouldn't talk at people for a while.

So instead Tim's just kind of... hovering, off down a side hallway. This gala's being held at an art gallery, so he at least can give an appearance of looking at the pieces on display. Holding a champagne flute that's had maybe a single sip taken from it, looking at weird abstract sculptures, and pretending he fits in.

Okay maybe he does mind galas a little bit.

He's not exactly paying attention, so he doesn't notice somebody else has joined him in the hallway right away, until he's startled by the footsteps behind him on the marble. Instinct kicks in and he turns, but of course - just another partygoer. Obviously. It's a gala. "Oh! Er, sorry. I was just... looking at the, um, art." ...Why did you say that? Stupid. But the feeling of a need to explain his presence lingered anyway.