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Tim stands outside of Dick’s apartment, hoping his brother is home. He keeps shifting on his feet, watching the doorknob like staring menacingly at it would make it twist and open. But doorknobs didn’t feel fear, and Tim needed to get himself together. He was here for a perfectly normal reason (or so he tells himself).
Last week, Dick had been sick. Haley had been restless. So, Dick asked if Tim could take Haley out for a while, let her burn off some of that puppy energy. Tim, reluctantly, had agreed. He could find better things to do, but Haley was looking at him all sad, and Dick somehow was managing to look more pathetic than the three-legged mutt in his care. Tim expected that he could walk the dog around for a while and simply return her back home when she was tired out. Easy enough.
What he hadn’t accounted for was you. You, and your own mutt — Rocky or Rambo or something. It was one of those dogs that was so ugly it was cute: a mutt with ears that couldn’t decide if they wanted to be up or down, asymmetrical patches in it’s fur, a tongue that was perpetually stuck out, the whole package. He wasn’t really paying attention to the dog much. He was more so caught in the way that the sun framed you, casting gold warmth on your skin.
Haley was well-trained when she wanted to be. Tim didn’t really know why she decided to jerk the leash, but it surprised him enough that the leash slipped from his hand.
In his defense, she was usually better behaved. Sometimes.
Regardless, she’d gotten loose and honed in on your dog. Haley, in all her thirty-pound glory, had barreled into your dog like they were long lost best friends. Tim? He was mortified. He would have apologized if he wasn’t stuck staring at you for the following thirty seconds.
You had given an awkward laugh as Tim wrangled the pitbull and (finally) started stuttering out apologies. He held her like he’d never seen a dog before, though her tail had wagged all the same as she hung limply.
“I’m so sorry, that’s my fault,” He’d finally said it without stumbling over the words.
He doesn’t really remember the rest of the short conversation. He was distracted by the color of your eyes and trying to decide if you thought Haley licking at his chin was endearing or gross.
Since then, Tim had been anxious to see you again. He considered coming to the park again and waiting around for you, but then that made him feel like a creep. He did hack into the unmonitored CCTV of businesses by the park just to establish a daily rhythm, but he wasn’t being a creep with that. He swears! He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t wasting his time. There is a fine line between stalking and being nosey; Tim would like to think he’s just a detective at heart.
Mostly assured that you would be there, he needed an excuse to talk to you. And what better excuse than the original?
Finally, the stupid doorknob turns.
“Tim?” Dick quirks a brow. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Tim nods, but the heat crawling up his neck gives him away. Between Dick’s legs, Haley pokes her head out. Bingo. “Are you still sick?”
“Oh. No, I’m feeling better. It was just a cold. Why?” Dick asks, tilting his head at his younger brother.
“Haley doesn’t need to go for a walk?” Tim sounds too blunt, too pushy. He doesn’t care.
“We went out earlier.” Dick says. He looks Tim over as if checking for something wrong. Perhaps he hit his head? “You gonna tell me why, or…?”
“Yes!” Tim’s voice cracks. He was usually better at lying. Whatever. “I just… she’s a good dog. Wanted to take her for another walk.”
Dick gives him an unimpressed look. When they were younger, Dick had to deal with enough of his bullshit. It wasn’t hard to tell when Tim was up to more than he let on. Dick doesn’t even need to say anything before Tim is speaking.
“Look, there’s… there’s this person I saw at the park last time, and Haley is a good excuse to talk to them.”
Dick stares for a moment. Tim feels like squirming.
“You’re… using my dog to get a date?” Dick clarifies.
Tim starts to calculate how inconvenient it would be to change his name and move elsewhere. In the end, he seems to decide against it, because he nods. Slowly, like he’s unsure about even admitting it. “‘Date’ is a strong word.”
Another few beats of awkward silence pass. The door closes, and Tim resumes his earlier calculations. Maybe he could pull some strings with Conner and find a place in Smallville. He could take up horticulture, some animal husbandry. Or just be a hermit. How expensive were solar panels these days?
The door opens again to reveal Haley already pulling at her leash. Dick narrows his eyes, but there’s no real threat behind them. “Be back before dark. And don’t get her into trouble.”
Right. Like Haley wasn’t the one who started this.
Tim’s leg bounces on the bench, not quite paying attention to Haley as she chews on his shoelaces. He hated sitting still. Sure, he could sit at his desk for hours and work, but that was him being productive. Mind unoccupied? Sitting on a bench in a park and just… waiting? He feels like pulling his hair out.
It’s 4:37 when Haley tugs at the leash. Right on time. Her yipping and the violent wag of her tail must attract your dog, too, because suddenly he’s equally as excited. Perfect. All is going to plan. The hard part was going to be actually flirting.
“Oh! Hey,” He grins and waves as if he hadn’t been planning this for a week. He clears his throat, but the lump there doesn’t disappear. God, he hopes you remember him. This is going to be awkward if you don’t. “Fancy seeing you again.”
Fancy seeing you? Who the hell says that?
His cheeks burn, but you smile back anyway. You say something in response, but he’s staring at the way your lips move instead of actually listening. They look soft, he thinks. Have you kissed anyone? He hopes he kisses well, not that he’s ever asked for feedback. Or kissed that many people. What’s the definition of a “good kisser”, anyway? Maybe he should ask your preference, but then again, that’s weird too.
“—name?”
Oh. You’ve still been talking.
He blinks hard enough that black spots dance in his vision for a moment. “Uh, Tim. My name is Tim.”
You stare for a moment, brows pinned and smile sort of wobbly. Then he realized you hadn’t been asking for his name. “I mean, Haley, sorry. Long night. Her name is Haley. I didn’t name her, though, she’s not mine. Not that I wouldn’t take her in! I love dogs. Dog person. Animal person. My little brother has a cow.”
Someone end him now.
Tim can’t tell if you think he’s a freak or if his rambling is endearing. He’s hoping for the latter, but he’s fairly sure it’s the former. He could try to argue Batman into the ground at fourteen, but talking to you like a normal person? Out of the question, apparently.
“Right,” You finally say. “How did Haley lose her leg?”
“Uh,” He pauses. Spouting off Haley’s tragic backstory definitely felt like it was going to ruin the mood. Was there a mood? There is a not a mood, decidedly, but he would still rather avoid making you sad. “my brother found her as a stray. Not super sure what happened to her.”
He tries to think of something else to say. He wants to continue this conversation, but every rehearsal of this he’s done in his head is suddenly gone from his memory.
And then you swear, pulling your dog back with frantic apologies. He almost doesn’t realize what happened, nervous system too fried by everything else to notice. But, undoubtedly, your dog had peed on him. This was not part of the plan.
Great. Haley grumbles in solidarity.
“I am… so sorry,” You say again, cheeks darkened as embarrassment rises in you. But at least you’re talking to him!
“It- it’s okay! I need new shoes anyway.” He breathes out with a shaky smile. He doesn’t need new shoes, but you look mortified, and he desperately wants you to understand that it’s alright. He crouches to let your dog lick at his fingers. The little beast wags it’s tail so hard his whole body wobbles. “Just means he likes me, right?”
You give another embarrassed look, but nod. “Dogs usually have a good read on people.” Your words are sheepish, but Tim takes the opening.
“You want to find out?”
You give him an owlish, almost concerned look. Maybe he should finish the pickup line. Either he delivered it poorly, or you didn’t get it. Regardless of which it was, you were looking at him as though you were trying to evaluate his motivation. He swears he’s a good person, just give him a chance.
“I mean… you know. It would be good to see you again.”
“I’ll buy you new pants?” You say, the words coming through with another sheepish laugh.
“Sure.” He chirps, grinning ear to ear.
He won’t let you pay, never in a million years, but you don’t have to know that right now. He got a date, and that’s all that matters right now. He’s already mentally mapping out the stores of the mall and which places you might want to go. The food court might not be the best first date, but it was something.