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“Bye, mom, I’m heading out!” Sebastian Ives yelled over his shoulder.
“Be home before dinner!” she replied without looking up from her newspaper.
He rushed to his front door and threw it open to reveal Tim Drake, his best friend and—as of earlier this week—boyfriend. His mom didn’t know that second part yet. She thought Ives was hanging out with a friend from school. Ives would tell his parents eventually, he promised himself. He just needed to figure out how.
“Hey, Ives,” Tim said with a casual wave. He wore a button-down shirt with nice jeans that probably cost more than Ives’s whole wardrobe. Parked in the driveway behind him was his red sedan.
“Timbo!” Ives exclaimed. He toed his worn sneakers on, shut the door behind him, and headed for the passenger side door of Tim’s car.
Before he came to Gotham Heights High, Tim had attended boarding schools where tuition alone was almost as much as Ives’s parents made in a year. He owned a car at only fourteen years old. Ives’s family wasn’t poor, per se, but they weren’t anywhere near the same tax bracket as the Drakes. Ives couldn’t find it within himself to resent Tim for it, not when Tim never lorded his riches over the rest of them and only brought up the topic to insist upon footing the bill. Not when the main reason Tim got a driver’s license and a car in the first place was to ferry his wheelchair-bound dad to physical therapy appointments.
As Tim drove them to the restaurant, Ives felt giddy excitement fizz in his chest. It was kind of silly; Ives had sat in this very seat a dozen times before. But on those occasions, he and Tim had been friends hanging out, usually with Callie, Kevin, or Hudson occupying the backseat. This time, it was just the two of them, and they were on a date. Their first date. The thought of it made Ives’s smile widen further.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Tim commented.
“Yeah, I guess I am. I’m really happy. And a little nervous. But mostly happy,” Ives confessed.
A chuckle escaped Tim’s lips. “As happy as you were at the Star Wars convention?” he teased.
With mock-seriousness, Ives replied, “Well, of course nothing can top the day I got Mark Hamill’s autograph. But today is a close second.”
“Second only to Hamill, huh? I’m honored.”
The banter felt familiar and comforting. Ives had worried that asking Tim out would ruin the friendship they already had, but his worries had proven unfounded so far. They were still figuring out what it meant to be boyfriends, but whatever it was, it didn’t preclude them from gently ribbing each other like they always had.
Tim pulled into the restaurant parking lot. On their way in, he held the door open for Ives and made a “you first” motion with his other hand. The gesture would have read as polite and friendly just last week; now, it made Ives’s cheeks flush a rosy pink.
The interior decor was pleasant: hardwood floors, patterned tablecloths, and large windows that would have let in sunlight if they weren't beneath the gray skies of gloomy Gotham. The clink of silverware upon ceramic and the chatter of a Saturday lunch crowd filled the air. Their waitress was obviously new, nervous-looking and wearing bright shoes that clashed with the rest of her uniform. She seated them, then had to reseat them at another table five minutes later when it turned out the spot where she'd initially put them had been reserved for another party.
After they ordered, Tim and Ives made idle conversation. “I can't wait for the new Warlocks and Warriors sourcebook to come out,” Ives enthused. “There are supposed to be three new playable races and ten new subclasses.”
Tim sipped from his glass of ice water and idly poked at the lemon slice floating inside with his straw. “Personally, I'm looking forward to the new adventure module. It's supposed to contain their most ambitious dungeon crawl yet.”
“D’you wanna run that one? You haven’t DM’d a session since that time you skipped out on us halfway through describing the scenario. I miss the way you play NPCs—you have a way of bringing every character to life,” Ives mused.
Tim winced. “Sorry I left you guys hanging. Something really urgent came up.”
“It’s okay, Timbo. Just make it up to us by running a kickass adventure when the book comes out, yeah?”
The corners of Tim’s lips quirked upward. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Their waitress came by and took their orders. Once she was gone, Tim excused himself to visit the bathroom. Ives fiddled with his silverware while he waited for his friend—and boyfriend, he remembered with a little thrill, Tim was his boyfriend now—to return. He pulled out a small red pouch from his pocket and looked inside just to reassure himself that everything was still there.
Ives had wanted to get Tim something special to commemorate their first date. But what did you get for someone who already had all the cool new gadgets and shiny toys he could want? When he’d asked Callie for advice, she suggested getting Tim something handmade—the kind of unique, heartfelt gift money couldn’t buy. One of his older cousins owned equipment for casting resin dice. She’d been gracious enough to show Ives how to use it as thanks for tutoring her younger siblings. Several hours of pouring, sanding, and painting later, Ives was the proud owner of a brand-new set of translucent red dice with numbers painted sparkly gold. Sure, it wasn’t as fancy as the custom sets his cousin made, but Ives thought it had turned out pretty well for a first attempt. The dice pouch sat in Ives’s pants pocket now, waiting for the right moment.
Tim slid back into the seat across from Ives, and Ives hastily shoved the pouch back into his pocket. If Tim noticed, he didn’t comment.
Their orders arrived soon after. Tim frowned as a soup and salad combo was placed before Ives. “That’s not what you ordered, is it?” asked Tim.
“It’s not,” Ives replied. He’d asked for the soup and sandwich combo. “It’s fine, though, I can eat this—”
It was too late; Tim was already flagging their server down. “Excuse me, ma’am? This isn’t what we ordered. He asked for the soup of the day with a roast beef sandwich, no pickles. Can we please get it replaced?”
“Oh gosh, really? I’m so sorry, let me fix that for you,” their flustered waitress replied.
Ives sighed as she took his plate away. “You didn’t have to do that. But… thanks.”
While they waited for Ives’s sandwich to come out, Ives munched on their shared side of fries, and Tim bit into his burger. The shorter teen briefly frowned at his food, then shrugged and took another bite.
“Is something wrong?” Ives asked.
“They forgot the onions. It’s not a big deal, though,” Tim said, completely oblivious to the irony of his reaction. That was Tim: always willing to go to bat for other people, but not for himself. Ives made a mental note to bring it up to their waitress when she returned. The prospect was nerve-wracking, but he could hardly fail to make sure Tim got the food he wanted when Tim had done just that for him, right?
Ives never got the chance to follow through on his resolution. On her way to their table with Ives’s corrected order, their waitress slipped on a wet patch of floor. As if in slow motion, Ives watched the roast beef sandwich and bowl of gazpacho leave the plate they were balanced on and go flying through the air. Tim’s head whipped around, searching for the cause of Ives’s shock, and locked onto the objects hurtling towards them. Just before the ceramic bowl could impact Ives’s face, Tim snatched it from the air with lightning-fast reflexes. Unfortunately, the laws of physics meant that most of the chilled vegetable soup sloshed out of the bowl and all over Ives’s front despite Tim’s efforts. To top it all off, a triangular slice of sandwich bread with a lettuce leaf stuck to it landed atop Tim’s hair.
It was too much. Ives couldn’t help his reaction.
“Pfft… hahahahaha!” Uncontrolled laughter erupted from Ives’s belly at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. His shirt and sweater vest were stained, sticky, and soaked through with gazpacho. His lunch had fallen apart into its individual components, which lay scattered across a five-foot-square area. He couldn’t have asked for a more memorable first date.
Tim blinked owlishly at Ives for a few moments before he, too, collapsed into a fit of giggles. Several of the waitstaff rushed over to see if they needed assistance, including their profusely apologetic waitress, and it took Ives three tries before he could stop laughing for long enough to reassure them that the soup hadn’t been hot enough to burn and he was fine.
“I think I have a spare jacket in my car. I’ll grab it for you,” Tim offered, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye.
Ives headed off to the bathroom to strip off his wet top and clean up as best as he could. A few minutes later, Tim arrived bearing a hoodie that hung loosely enough on his small frame that it didn’t look completely ridiculous on Ives’s taller body. For some reason, Tim wouldn’t look directly at Ives until the hoodie was on.
“Hey, thanks for saving me from getting brained by that soup bowl,” Ives said, still chuckling a little at the memory.
Tim shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. “It was a lucky catch, that’s all.”
“Tim Drake, defender of glasses-wearing geeks and bane of flying dishware. May your name live on in legend,” Ives said, unable to resist poking a bit of fun.
Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. The manager said that they’re remaking your food and that our whole meal is free, by the way. I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry. Wanna go eat?”
“Lead the way.”
Thankfully, the rest of their lunch passed with no further mishaps. When the food was actually going in Ives’s mouth instead of onto his sweater vest or all over the floor, it was pretty good. They ate their fill, then left for their next destination: a board game and comic book shop located just a short walk away.
When they arrived and caught sight of the store, Ives’s heart sank. The front door was shut, the interior was dark, and one of the two front windows had been smashed and hastily taped over with cardboard. A handwritten sign upon the door read, in bright red sharpie, “CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.” Ives stared mournfully through the single intact window at the interior, which looked like a hurricane had rampaged through it.
“You’d think we’d be more used to stuff like this, living in Gotham and all,” Ives sighed. “Right, Tim?”
He turned to look at Tim, only to find his friend picking up an object off the street with a handkerchief. Something metallic and cylindrical briefly glinted in the light before it vanished into Tim’s pocket. A bullet casing?
“Yeah,” Tim replied belatedly. “I’m sorry, Ives, I know you were really looking forward to this.”
Before Ives could ask Tim what he had grabbed from the sidewalk, he caught sight of another familiar face approaching them. Karl Ranck, accompanied by four other high schoolers in letterman jackets. A scowl formed unbidden on Ives’s face.
“Yo, Drake,” Karl said, greeting Tim with a slap on the back and completely ignoring Ives. “Still wasting time with four-eyes over here? Why don’t you ditch this loser and hang with us instead?”
“Get lost, Ranck,” Ives snapped. He didn’t think of himself as an angry person, but he dared anyone to take the constant harassment he’d received from Karl and remain unmoved.
“No thanks, Karl. Ives and I already have plans,” Tim replied, as polite and mild as ever.
“You're making a mistake, Timmy,” Karl tutted. “You could be popular. You could be part of the in-crowd. But you’ll never get there if you keep hanging out with these lame geekoids.”
Ives clenched and unclenched his fists, half wishing he was brave enough to deck Karl in his chiseled jaw and half glad he was sensible enough not to. The last thing he needed was to get in a fight with a guy twice his size who had four football players as backup. His racing thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected sensation of a warm, calloused hand taking his own.
“Please don't talk about my boyfriend like that,” Tim said, openly holding Ives’s hand.
Ives gaped at him. Karl's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Karl's entourage looked back and forth between Tim and Ives with expressions of surprise.
“Have a good day, you guys,” Tim said before he turned and walked away. Ives trailed after him, still holding hands.
After they rounded a corner, when they were out of both earshot and eyeshot of the jocks, Tim turned to Ives. “Sorry, I know we haven't discussed whether to tell people at school that we're dating. I should’ve checked with you first,” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I just… I had to say something. The way people like him treat you is abhorrent.”
Ives enveloped Tim in a crushing hug, squeezing a tiny “eep” sound from the smaller teen. “Thanks for standing up for me, Timbo.”
Startled, Tim froze for half a second. Then he melted and wrapped his arms around Ives in return. “Anytime.”
The hug lasted a good few seconds before Ives finally, reluctantly, let go. “Guess that part of the date is a bust, huh?”
Tim shrugged. “Unfortunately. That doesn’t mean we can’t hang out, though.”
Ives brightened as an idea crossed his mind. “Hey, there’s a really good ice cream shop a few blocks from here, right across from the park. Wanna check it out?”
Tim’s grin was all the confirmation Ives needed.
Thirty minutes later, Tim and Ives were strolling through a little city park, each holding an ice cream cone. Ives gesticulated wildly with his free hand as he explained why the original Star Wars trilogy was far superior to the prequels. Melting strawberry ice cream dripped down his waffle cone and onto his fingers. Tim nodded along, interjected his own comments here and there, and licked his scoop of mint chocolate chip. When they came to a small fountain, they sat down side by side at its edge, close enough that their knees brushed against each other.
“Thanks for asking me out, Ives. I had a lot of fun today,” Tim grinned.
“Even though so many things went wrong?” Ives asked.
“Yeah. The company more than made up for it.”
A sappy, foolish smile spread across Ives’s face. “I’m glad. I had a great time too.” He ducked his head for a moment, embarrassed, then hesitantly turned back to Tim.
Tim was leaning towards him, wearing that slightly lopsided grin Ives liked so much. One of Ives’s hands rested on the stone ledge of the fountain; Tim’s palm slid on top of it, firm and steady. Their faces were so close that Tim’s breath tickled his skin. Ives’s brain finally caught on to his boyfriend’s intentions, and he froze like a deer in the headlights.
Tim hesitated. “Is this okay?” he checked, looking concerned.
Ives opened his mouth, failed to come up with words, and closed it again. He settled for nodding frantically. His heart beat out a rapid rhythm in his chest, and he didn’t know when he had last remembered to breathe.
The worried crease in Tim’s brows smoothed out, replaced by a fond look. He leaned in further, and then his lips were pressing against Ives’s. They were slightly chapped, not soft like Ives had imagined, but that didn’t matter because holy shit Ives was kissing Tim Drake.
The kiss probably didn’t last very long in objective terms. A few seconds at most. To Ives, it felt both far longer than that and much too short. When their lips finally parted, Ives was breathless and slightly woozy.
“Am— am I dreaming?” Ives murmured.
Tim laughed. “Not as far as I know.” His hand squeezed Ives’s, as if to confirm that he was physically present and not a figment of Ives’s imagination.
Ives was so, so lucky. He didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve this, but he was glad of it.
It occurred to him that now would be the perfect time to give Tim his gift. Ives reached into the pants pocket where he’d put the dice… and found it empty. Oh no.
“Uh, Ives? Is everything alright?” Tim asked as Ives frantically turned all of his pockets inside out. Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check. But no dice pouch.
“Y-yeah, everything's fine! All good!” Ives replied shrilly. Where could he have lost the dice? At the restaurant? During the walk? He would have to retrace his steps.
“Did you lose something? I can help you look for it,” Tim offered.
“No, no, it's fine,” Ives insisted, mortified. He wasn't going to lose Tim's gift and then ask Tim to scour the streets in search of it. He had standards.
“Okay,” Tim said, looking dubious.
“Listen, Tim, thanks again for coming on this date with me,” Ives said, trying to figure out how to gracefully extricate himself so he could search for the missing dice. “But I, um, I think I have to go soon.”
“I can drive you home, or to wherever you need to go,” Tim offered.
“No, no, that’s okay, I have something to do in the neighborhood.”
“Are you sure? Whatever’s going on, I can help.”
“I’m sure,” Ives replied, mentally begging Tim to please drop it. His heart couldn’t take much more embarrassment in one day.
“Alright. If you change your mind, call or text me, okay?”
“Thanks, Tim,” Ives said, standing up. “I’ll see you at school on Monday!” He trotted off towards the ice cream shop, hoping to locate the lost gift before sunset.
Unfortunately for Ives, no one at the ice cream shop had turned in a lost item. Neither had anyone at the restaurant. He was retracing the path he and Tim had taken, worried about the lengthening shadows and fading daylight, when he turned a corner and bumped into his least favorite person in the world for the second time that day.
“Well, well, look who it is. Did your little boyfriend dump you already, Ives Four-Eyes?” Karl sneered. His football friends laughed like he’d told a hilarious joke instead of repeating a worn-out nickname that had dogged Ives since elementary school. They stood in a little cluster on the sidewalk, blocking the way.
“I don’t have time for your sophomoric insults today, Karl,” Ives growled. He tried to squeeze past them, but they closed ranks, forming a solid wall of muscle. Ives turned around, intending to cross the street and circle around the long way, but a hand grabbed his hoodie and yanked. He fell onto his ass on the sidewalk with a wince.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you that it’s rude to leave in the middle of a conversation?” Karl tutted. He glanced at his posse. “Let’s teach four-eyes a lesson about politeness.”
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Ives was so screwed. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the first punch or kick to land. Instead, he found himself being hoisted over Karl’s broad shoulder like a bony sack of potatoes.
“Put me down!” he demanded, flailing. Karl kept a firm grip on his legs, preventing Ives from kicking him in the face.
Karl ignored him as he strode down a nearby alleyway, one hidden in the shadows between two buildings. Were they taking him somewhere with fewer witnesses?
“Hey, Karl, look,” one of the jocks said, pointing at something outside Ives’s field of view. Ives heard the sound of a lid being thrown open.
“Great idea,” Karl snickered. “Let’s toss this geek in the trash where he belongs.”
A second later, he was unceremoniously flung into a large, odiferous dumpster, where he landed face-up atop black trash bags and an oddly warm object covered in fabric. Before he could figure out exactly what had broken his fall, the dumpster lid slammed shut over his head, plunging him into darkness. He heard a decisive click, like a padlock being snapped shut, and his heart sank. Sure enough, when Ives tried to lift the dumpster lid, it refused to open.
“Have fun in there!” one of Karl’s friends yelled. The group’s mocking laughter bounced between the alley walls, echoing as their footsteps disappeared down the street.
The sound of a throat being pointedly cleared right next to his ear startled Ives so badly that he nearly jumped out of his skin. He scrambled away from the noise until his back thumped against the opposite wall of the dumpster and fumbled for his phone. In the dim blue-white light of the screen, Ives saw that he was not alone. The warm, fabric-clad shape that broke his fall had not been an object, but a person. The figure wore a red leotard, green tights, and a black cape with yellow lining. A domino mask covered his eyes, and a stylized R adorned his chest.
“Holy shit,” Ives gasped. “Robin? You’re real?”
Tim’s day had just gotten a lot more complicated.
After his date with Ives, Tim had been planning to change into costume and investigate the damage to his favorite board game shop. The destruction could have been nothing more than collateral damage from a fight, or it could have been targeted. If the store owners were being extorted for protection money or otherwise harassed by organized crime, Tim wanted to know.
That was before Ives had very obviously lost one of his belongings, and then decided to look for it on his own instead of accepting Tim’s help. Tim understood the desire to solve a problem independently, but he didn’t want Ives walking around alone after dark if the search took too long. Finding a lost item should be well within Robin’s abilities, right?
Getting access to the security camera footage from places along his and Ives’s route had been child’s play. Tim sped through the videos at several times normal speed, keeping an eye out for clues.
Throughout the day, Ives had periodically removed a small red drawstring bag from his pants pocket, looked at it, and then tucked it away again. At one particular intersection, he stuffed it away too hastily when the walk signal turned on, leaving the pouch half-in, half-out of his pocket. Since it was on the side facing away from Tim, Tim hadn’t seen it at the time. The item fell out onto the sidewalk half a block later, unnoticed by either of the two boys. The next pedestrian who came across it probably assumed it was litter, because they tossed it into the nearest dumpster.
Well, that answered that question. Tim did not look forward to digging through the trash for one small item, but he had done far less glorious things during his Robin career, and whatever was in that pouch was clearly important to Ives. He grappled between buildings until he reached the correct dumpster, hopped in, and turned on his flashlight. Time to start searching.
The tall metal walls and heavy lid of the dumpster muffled sounds, which was Tim’s excuse for why he hadn’t heard a group of people approaching his location until it was too late to run. He clicked his flashlight off so the light wouldn’t give his presence away and waited quietly for them to leave. Then, coincidence of coincidences, he heard familiar voices.
“Hey, Karl, look!” one of Tim’s classmates said. As the teen flung the dumpster lid open, Tim ducked down into the shadows and hid in his dark cape. He had no desire for Robin to be spotted digging through garbage.
Karl’s voice answered, “Great idea. Let’s toss this geek in the trash where he belongs.”
That was all the warning Tim had before a tall, lanky body landed right on top of him. He barely managed to suppress his grunt of pain. One of the hooligans closed the dumpster lid, blanketing them in darkness, and locked it. Fantastic. If Nightwing heard about this, he would never let Tim live it down.
“Have fun in there!” someone outside yelled. The mystery boy lying on his back on top of Tim pushed futilely at the dumpster lid a few times, but all he managed to do was lightly rattle it.
Tim listened as the sound of the bullies’ laughter faded into the distance. When he estimated they were sufficiently far away, he cleared his throat. There was no hiding his presence from the person trapped in here with him, not if he wanted to get both of them out, and he would like the elbow digging into his ribs to move, thanks.
Startled, the boy on top of him retreated to the other end of the dumpster. With the weight pinning him gone, Tim sat up. He put one gloved hand up to his domino mask, intending to activate the night-vision function, but the other person in the dumpster turned on his phone screen before Tim could finish. In the dim illumination, Tim recognized Sebastian Ives at the same time as Ives recognized the Robin costume.
Ives inhaled sharply. “Holy shit. Robin? You’re real?”
“Ive—,” Tim started to say. He caught himself just in time. “Uh, um, I mean, I’ve been called Robin, yes.”
“Wha— how— why—?” Ives sputtered.
Using his Robin voice, which was deeper and crisper than his Tim Drake voice, Tim lied, “I was hunting for evidence for an active investigation when you landed on me.”
“Sorry,” Ives winced. “I didn’t have much choice.”
“I figured. Bullies?”
“Bullies,” Ives confirmed. “But, oh wow, Robin is real. Does that mean Batman is real? My friend Tim—well, he’s my boyfriend Tim now, I’m still not used to that—um, anyway, he’s convinced you’re both nothing but urban legends! I’ll have the craziest story to tell when we get out!”
Tim stifled a laugh, glad that Ives seemed more excited than distressed. “Speaking of getting out, I’m going to see if I can pick the lock.” He extracted a spool of rigid wire from his utility belt and got to work. If he could slide the wire through the gap between the lid and the frame, then he might be able to manipulate the lock from this side…
As Robin worked, Ives kept up a stream of nervous chatter. Tim only halfway paid attention, too focused on getting the wire positioned correctly to listen to every word. He was switching to a thinner gauge, having determined that the wire he used on his first attempt was too thick to fit properly, when his phone audibly vibrated. Not his Robin phone, but his Tim Drake phone.
Ives frowned, face lit by the dim glow of his phone screen. “Huh, that’s a weird coincidence,” he murmured to himself. “I just texted Tim…”
Crap. Tim quickly extracted his Bat-tech phone from his utility belt. “One, uh, one of my allies must have messaged me, I’ll see what they want,” he stammered. He opened up their private, secure messaging application and shot off a text to Oracle.
5:48 p.m.
Robin: help me
Ives was typing another message. Oh no. Giving up on hiding its existence, Tim took out his civilian phone and muted it before it could vibrate again. Surely having two phones was less suspicious than Robin’s phone going off every time Ives texted Tim, right?
His Bat-phone buzzed, notifying him that Oracle had replied.
5:49 p.m.
Oracle: What have you gotten yourself into this time?
Tim’s hastily-composed explanation was full of typos, but it succinctly described the situation and the favor he needed from her. He knew she might save every electronic record of this event to trot out as blackmail material later, but preserving his secret identity was more important than avoiding embarrassment.
As he hit send, he noticed Ives staring at him. “Is something wrong?” Robin asked carefully.
“Well, we’re trapped in a metal box that smells like weeks-old garbage,” Ives said dryly. “But aside from that, no, I was just thinking that you remind me of someone I know. You kinda look similar, and sound similar, and… even have the same phone case…” His voice trailed off, and he brought one hand to his chin in thought.
Act casual, Tim told himself. Act casual. Panicking is the most suspicious thing you could do right now.
“It's a good case,” Tim shrugged with false nonchalance. He slipped his phone into a belt pouch, trying not to look like he had anything to hide. Then he realized the one he'd put away was his Bat-phone and mentally face-palmed before putting away the civilian phone too. Get yourself together, Tim.
Before Ives had the chance to further ponder the odd similarities between his boyfriend Tim Drake and the vigilante Robin, his phone chimed. His face lit up at the notification. “Oh, Tim got back to me!”
Thank you, Oracle, Tim thought fervently as Ives turned his attention to his phone. Crisis averted. If Tim Drake was texting Ives while Robin picked a lock right in front of him, then there was no way they could be the same person, right? Tim just hoped Barbara didn’t say anything too embarrassing while she was temporarily stealing his identity.
As Tim fiddled with the angle of the wire, he couldn’t resist throwing a glance over at Ives every now and then. There was a fond smile on the lanky teen’s face as he wrote a message to his boyfriend. Tim felt a grin form on his own face in response.
When Ives asked him out, Tim had been pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t thought Ives was interested in him like that, but Tim was glad to have been proven wrong. Ives had always been dependable and kind. When Tim fell behind in class due to his vigilante duties, Ives shared class notes and reminded him of important dates. He accepted Tim’s quirks, like the way he nodded off to sleep in the middle of lunch. No matter how many times Tim had to turn down invitations to house parties or Warlocks & Warriors nights, Ives never stopped trying to include him. Yeah, Tim could do a lot worse than a guy like Sebastian Ives. And the way Ives got worked up about his hobbies was awfully cute.
An exclamation from Ives startled Tim from his thoughts. “No way,” Ives gasped, holding a small red pouch up to the light of his phone screen.
Tim turned back to his lockpicking in order to hide his relieved smile. “What happened?” he asked, keeping his tone mild and curious.
“I spotted— I was looking for— I lost something earlier today. A gift for my boyfriend. I have no clue how it wound up here of all places.” Ives sounded baffled.
A gift. The words settled in Tim’s awareness like warm coals. Ives had been so frantic because he’d lost a gift for Tim. He had to resist the urge to simultaneously hug Ives and scold him for putting his safety at risk over a non-essential item. Those were things Tim Drake could do. All Robin could do was blandly remark, “Well, I’m glad you found it.”
“Me too. I spent way too long making these dice just to lose them,” Ives chuckled.
“You made dice?” Tim asked, curiosity piqued.
“Yeah. Maybe dice are a weird choice for a gift, but my boyfriend and I are in a Warlocks & Warriors group together, and you can never have too many dice. A mutual friend of ours suggested that I get him something handmade, since he kinda already has all the expensive toys and gadgets, so I asked my cousin to teach me.”
Tim was blown away by the amount of thought and effort Ives put in. He’d gotten help from two separate people and learned to handmake dice just to do something special for Tim? He cleared his throat and somehow managed not to sound too emotional when he said, “Your boyfriend sounds like a very lucky guy.”
Defeating a lock from the wrong side was incredibly annoying, but Tim got it in the end. He pumped his fist in triumph as the padlock clicked open. From there, all he had to do was hook the end of the wire around the lock’s shackle and pull it free of the hasp. With the physical obstruction gone, he could finally push the lid open and breathe in the fresh evening air. As fresh as Gotham air got, anyhow.
Robin hopped out of the dumpster, then lent Ives a hand to help him climb out. “Thanks, man,” Ives said. “That would have been so much worse if you hadn’t been there.”
“Happy to help,” Tim replied. “Want me to escort you home?”
Ives started to shake his head, then reconsidered. “Could you walk me to the bus stop? I’d feel a lot better about the possibility of running into those guys again if I had a vigilante at my side.”
“Sure thing,” Tim agreed. As he accompanied Ives through the darkening city streets, he silently plotted to prevent Karl and his friends from attempting a stunt like this ever again. They weren’t exactly hardened criminals; a little talk with Robin featuring the phrases “false imprisonment” and “up to six months of jail time” would hopefully be enough to scare them off. If not, well… Robin might be too much of a hero to enact revenge on teenage bullies, but Tim Drake had no such limitations.
They arrived at the bus stop, a grimy shelter huddled against a pale streetlight. Ives stood in the pool of illumination beneath the light while Robin stuck to the shadows cast by the shelter. As the bus pulled up, Ives said, “Thanks again, Robin. It makes me feel better to know that you’re out here.”
He turned around to board the vehicle, which was fortunate for Tim, because it meant Ives missed the very un-Robin-like blush that crept up Tim’s cheeks. Just before the doors closed, Tim called, “Take care!”
Ives gave him a friendly wave in response. He remained there on the sidewalk, watching Ives through the brightly lit square of the bus window, until the vehicle turned a corner and was gone.
Bonus Content: What Oracle said as Tim
5:46 p.m
Ives: Your not gonna believe what just happened to me
Ives: Im trapped in a dumpster with Robin. Like Batman and Robin
5:53 p.m.
Tim: are you okay???
5:55 p.m.
Ives: Weirdly, I think I am? Getting thrown in here sucked (guess who was responsible), but Robin seems like he has the situation under control. He’s working on unlocking the lid
Ives: He kinda reminds me of you. Cool under pressure
5:56 p.m.
Tim: that’s sweet but if ur not out in the next 10 min i’m calling the police
Tim: keep me updated
5:57 p.m.
Ives: Can do
Ives: Now do you believe Batman is real?
5:59 p.m.
Tim: the data remain inconclusive
Ives: Tim I can see Robin right now with my own two eyes. Wearing a cape and a big R on his chest
Tim: could be a cosplayer
6:00 p.m.
Ives: Hes picking the lock!
Tim: a lot of ppl can pick locks, doesn’t make them the mythical Robin
Ives: Tiimmmm >:(
Tim: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
6:04 p.m.
Ives: Operation: Escape the Gross Smelly Dumpster is a success
Ives: Robin is walking me to the bus stop
6:05 p.m.
Tim: do I have competition? lol should I be worried?
6:10 p.m.
Tim: Ives?
6:11 p.m.
Ives: …how do you feel about celebrity crushes?