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Tim fidgets with the collar of his dress suit, and plays with the idea of yanking out his strangle-happy tie in a more comfortable position. He doesn't know why his feet have carried him to a generic Starbucks when he could've walked to the cute rustic place two blocks down that sells actually good pastries.
(Really, he knows why he came here.)
Tim fights down the urge to fix his gelled hair to present a younger picture and wills his face not to resemble a particularly red fruit, and pushes the squeaky door open into the Starbucks to join a long line of giggling teenagers and businessmen and women sporadically checking their watch and sighing.
And there she is. The light to his dreary life, the spark in his rusty ignition, the lone sand dollar amongst masses of dim seashells—
Her name tag reads Marinette. A wonderfully unique name that has him mentally swooning already.
Her shining ocean eyes tell of a hundred stories that have made the woman currently smiling and serving an old man who she is today.
Her hair rests in a low ponytail, stray hairs sticking out of the hairband and framing her face elegantly. She resembles a piece of modern artwork drawn by the skilled hand of an Italian Renaissance man. A portrait utilizing individualism and perspective with her as the focal point.
Tim's hands itch for a camera, his fingers making aborted motions: motions he would make to click a button and hear the satisfying shutter an old vintage camera would make as it caught a great masterpiece.
Months of pent up adoration always has Tim smiling widely at Marinette when he earns his place in the front of the line, but he can never seem to get any words out besides, "A large americano, please." And, fuck. That was not a confession of love.
Marinette smiles, and his heart momentarily stops, as it always does when she gives him that riveting quirk of lips.
Tim could go on all day if it weren’t for the hesitance so deep under his skin. The hesitance telling him to go for another woman.
And he thinks about it. Every. Damned. Day. His life has become a monotonous streak of eat, sleep, work, beat up bad guys, and stare at the cute girl who brews his coffee for five seconds before returning to the cycle.
He’d be drained if it wasn’t for that last activity.
Alas, it comes to a close, and Tim has to will his legs to move out of the Starbucks with one last look behind him.
“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you’d have a little crush.” And Red Robin’s daydreams are interrupted yet again by the only other woman in his life.
He should consider switching to boys. He and Kon would be great together.
Tim sighs, and his breath visibly puffs out into the cold Gotham air. “Nothing can worm it’s way into this heart of ice, don’t you know?” Ladybird laughs, then sobers.
“Are you okay?” She looks at him, and there it is. Her beautiful blue eyes inching their way into his mind and pulling out his deepest, darkest secrets. They erupt a magnitude of emotions, and he’s sorry to say that he could fall into them, if not for the mysterious barista occupying his mind.
Red hesitates. He’s told Ladybird a great deal of things, sans identity. It wasn’t a doubt that he could trust her not to go babbling to his brothers, but something held him back anyway.
He brushed it away. “Sure. My life is great,” he says in a faux-happy tone, “except for the fact that I feel like a stupid eighth grader.” Ladybird’s eyes widen with understanding, before she bursts into a loud guffaw.
“Oh,” She cuts off, slapping her hand to her mouth, laughing even louder and Tim resists the urge to sigh again.
“You—“ Ladybird points at him, “—have a crush? Itty Bitty T—“ She cuts off, shaking her head. “Red has a schoolgirl crush?”
Tim narrows his eyes, momentarily set off by her behavior. “I would appreciate if you stopped laughing at me.” And Ladybird laughs even harder, reaching out a shaky hand to weakly slap his arm as he scowls into the distance.
“Okay, okay.” She hiccups, and takes a deep breath. The sight of her hot breath mixing with the cold air, long eyelashes casting shadows on the top of her red cheeks. It’s too much.
Tim doesn’t know how to handle that.
If he had a choice, if he could fall in love with anyone, it would be her. Not the random barista at Starbucks who makes his heart thump wildly. It would be Ladybird, who emits a calm feeling in the midst of calamity.
She is home. But Tim has to stop being agoraphobic.
“What is she like?” Tim doesn’t know, but if he had to choose, it’d be pure Ladybird.
“She’s—fine.” Red Robin swallows nervously, his eyes wandering down to the rough pavement of the rooftop they’re taking a break on in avoidance. His hands find a tiny pebble and play with it.
“You don’t even know what she’s like?” Ladybirds’s voice has taken a funny tone to it, almost like she wants to start laughing again.
But with his next words, she visibly sobers. He can never lie to her. “I’m afraid she isn’t like you.”
Tim doesn’t sleep that night. The words that followed were sporadic and awkward until he stood up and bid Ladybird a goodbye. So, he tosses and turns. The only thing on his mind sadly not a camera or a beautiful girl, but of doubt.
It’s stupid, really. He’s a grown man indulging in little kiddie fantasies. This is Romeo-level shit, as Jason would say.
Tim groans and reluctantly staggers his way out of bed to start the day.
Marinette cant believe it.
“I’m afraid she isn’t like you.”
She’s beyond excitement, beyond happiness in a nice little place called Cloud-Fucking-9. Suddenly the world looks down upon tiny baristas like herself and says, “Have a little happiness,”. And damn right she will take it.
Tim—Red—might just love her. She forgets the fact that he likes another girl, forgets all of it, because eventually, Tim will see past that girl and she’ll be waiting.
Not creepily in the corner, but right in the middle of the room. Confessing her love, her identity, all of it.
This is big girl level. She’s up there with Beyoncé right now. (Except that her Jay-Z is the most attractive man ever and has dimples when he smiles.)
Marinette wears a red ribbon in her hair today for her shift. Abnormal customers and regulars channel through, occasionally making polite conversation with her as she brews their coffee, whips their frappes, and adds a little milk to their lattes.
And time seems to slow to a stop as he walks in.
Tim looks awfully tired today, deep purple bags weighing down his eyes, the usual pep in his step gone. But that doesn’t stop the bright blue of his eyes from looking as intense as they should.
They lock eyes. Marinette smiles a little bit.
If you only knew.
And Tim—CEO of the largest enterprise in the world—honest to God blushes. Marinette has never noticed it before, but she think the girl that Tim is talking about—?
Tim states hard at her as he spits out his usual order, his eyes noticeably following her pleasant smile and hesitantly grabbing the marked cup in front of him before turning away.
—She thinks it just might be her.
Tim should really throw away the empty paper cup, but it’s been a long day, and he’d like to be comforted by something that his hot, beautiful barista has touched.
But then Dick opens the door. Tim not-so-subtly nudges the cup off of the desk and into the trash can, but to no avail, Dick still notices.
He grimaces as a worried, then angry look passed on Dick’s face. “Tim-my. You said you were gonna stop.” He walks over to the trash can and picks the cup up, examining it.
“What is this, like three shots of death? You really should—“ An indiscernible look contorts his brothers face, and Tim narrows his eyes at the man in confusion.
“What.”
“Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. You never told me you were racking up the ladies!” Tim’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion as Dick looks at him incredulously.
Dick shows him the cup.
There are numbers scrawled across of it beneath the cardboard sleeve. Phone numbers.
Fuuuuuuck. And he means that in the best way possible.
“Dick, you are the best brother ever.” He snatches the cup away from Dick and stands up, striding past his brother confidently out of the room.
He still hears faint shouts of “Tim,” and “Come back,” to this very day.
Sitting on his bed a few hours later, hair soaking wet from a shower, he dials the number on his phone with shaking hands.
The beeping stops, and—
“Hello?”
Ladybird’s sleepy voice comes out instead of Marinette’s, and he deflates.
“Ladybird?” He asks, just for confirmation.
“N—no,” she slurs, sleep obviously heavy on her tongue, “Marinette.”
Tim blanches. Hangs up the phone. He stares at his wall for a while.
Ladybird and Marinette. Two equally beautiful people (if only he could see past Ladybirds mask).
But now he has. And Tim likes what he sees. He sees a beautiful, noteworthy woman turning into his best friend, beautiful in her own way, beautiful in the way she fights, speaks, and babbles.
And, Tim.
Tim goes to Starbucks the next day. He doesn’t care what other people say. It’s just the right price for love.
And as soon as he walks through the door, Marinette’s already there in front of him.
“Tim, I can totally explain.” And he just.
Leans in and holds her face with one hand. Her eyes widen, and she blushes before leaning in as well, and he kisses her.
Long to show just how much he missed getting to know another side of her from both perspectives. She’s a little piece of home and brand-new all at once.
Marinette is Ladybird, and both of them are now the same. There’s no better woman, in his opinion.
When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Marinette is already staring at him, flushed and breathing hard. “I take it you figured that part out.”
Tim chuckles, starts laughing hard. “Yeah,” he says, shakily, and smiles at Marinette.
She smiles back.