This oneshot is for Mie Ame. Enjoy.
Tim remembers many of the rules that his parents set down for him as a child growing up in his household. They were rules spoken often to him as a child, such as Timmy, if you don't eat your vegetables then you won't get to have any dessert. And then, during the holidays, there was the ever feared, Timmy, be a good boy for Mommy and Daddy otherwise Santa will put coal in your stocking. Growing up in a mansion, the son of the wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Drake, the one that was said to him by nannies and parents alike was No, don't touch Tim. This is only for looking until you're a big boy. Look, don't touch, an understood rule that Tim lived most of his life around, carrying it with him from his childhood days at Drake manor into his Robin days, and even now it was hiding somewhere in his mind.
Look, don't touch. At the Haley Circus as he watched The Flying Graysons perform from the audience seats. The bright lights and rising drum roll that sounded before one of the acrobats leapt off their platform, flipping and twisting through the air, only to be caught by a family member on the other end. The first time that Tim had seen Richard Grayson, the soon to be Robin.
Look, don't touch. He was running through the dark and damp alleyways of Gotham, camera strap looped around his neck as he chased after the colors black, red, green, and yellow. How many night had he slipped away from his babysitter to chase after Robin, the boy wonder, just to get that perfect picture? Even when it was a different boy who wore the Robin insignia, Jason Todd, the boy who had stolen the wheels off of the Batmobile... the first Robin to die. Then he had become Robin, a true member of the Batman family, and the rule suddenly felt a lot more serious as he stared into the Jason's memorial case. During those days it was a reminder of who not to be and of what not to do. Bruce made certain not to have another Robin's career end like Jason's had and so Tim turned his admiration back to Dick Grayson, the perfect Robin.
Perfect. That was the only word that Tim could ever place with Dick, though there were definitely a lot of nice words he'd added together over the years when coming to this conclusion. Skilled, handsome, loyal, charming, loving...Tim had combined them in every which way growing up, like an algebra equation, and the sum was always the same. Dick was the perfect Robin, the perfect brother, and at some age after Tim hit puberty he started to see him as the perfect lover. He was the one that Tim found himself measuring everyone else to and each time they would fall short to their example. Oh, Tim knew how cruel it was. For, how could he measure one love to another that would never be on the same caliber? Apples to oranges, as they say. He knew that Dick would never be his, because Dick was only ever his brother, and he only ever saw Tim as his little brother.
Dick was perfect and idolized by all, like a painting in a museum. And as something priceless always is, Tim knew he would never be his. For he was one of those people who was placed into your life for looking, not touching. And that was how it would always be.
