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It’s hot in Gotham.
There’s a horrendous heat wave sweeping all across the city, and it’s already day five of the sky high temperatures. The amount of heatstrokes in Gotham is rising at exponential rates, air conditioning units and fans are sold out and currently being sold for ridiculous prices on street corners, and Tim actually considered bringing an umbrella just to shade him from the sun on his coffee run before work.
This is his third coffee of the day, and the first one he’ll get this morning that’s stronger than Alfred allows, and he’s looking forward to the freezing cold brew much more than usual. Which is saying something, he thinks.
If he could think at all at the moment, that is.
Tim’s pretty much melting where he stands. He might be leaving behind a puddle of sweat each time he steps forward in line, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to check.
At least the baristas will have plenty of water to mop the floors with.
The door opens behind him, letting in another wave of heat for the shop’s meager air conditioning to battle, and Tim droops as it washes over him.
He blearily watches the feet of the person in front of him, sees long jeans and the hem of what can’t possibly be a sweatshirt - not in this weather, the guy’s gotta be a gym rat with the sides of his french terry shirt ripped all the way open or something - and when the legs move, he shuffles right along after them, slowly making his way up to the counter.
“Large hot coffee, three shots of espresso,” he hears, and the second word encourages him to whip his head up to stare incredulously at the person in front of him.
Tim is not sufficiently encouraged to actually move that quickly, but he does want to see just what in all hell’s blazes is going on in front of him.
He instead rolls his head weakly to the side, eying the person before him with the least possible amount of effort.
The guy in front of him is indeed wearing a sweatshirt, long sleeves pulled all the way down, and Tim watches in horror as they energetically pay for their blasphemously hot coffee and step to the side.
Tim can’t manage to find the brain power to think of a coherent question for the guy’s state of dress, and instead simply feels a general sense of horror and confusion at the guy’s retreating back.
“Mr. Drake-Wayne?” The barista asks, and Tim shakes himself back into motion, grimacing at the sweat that flies free into the air from the tips of his bangs. He steps up to the register.
“Iced cold brew, five espresso shots,” he orders, using as few words as possible. He pays with a tap and finds the willpower to use the touchscreen to leave a generous tip, then heads over toward the horrifying sweatshirt guy. Tim’s melting like the Wicked Witch of the West, and yet somehow this guy’s found yet more energy.
He’s shifting back and forth, leaning his body weight from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again, and Tim feels even more exhausted just watching him.
So he closes his eyes, leaning against the wall and begging for the heat wave to either end or end him. He isn’t even picky, at this point. He’s just so hot.
After an interminable amount of time, he hears his order called, and he barely opens his eyes, just enough to see that he isn’t going to shuffle directly into anyone on his way up to the counter.
He makes it there, reaching out for his wonderful coffee, desperate to feel something cold in his hands, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a sweatshirt-clad arm reaching out for the drink beside his own.
Tim watches as their hands move closer and closer, and he can’t find the strength to wait for his coffee until the other guy’s grabbed his first, so their hands find their cups at the same time, and the backs of their hands brush.
Cold, blessed cold pours over Tim so quickly he shivers, his sweat chilling in an instant that leaves him breathless. He honest to god almost moans, right there in the coffee shop, and it’s only his Bat-grade willpower that stops him.
“Whoops, sorry ‘bout that,” a voice says.
And then the cold tries to leave him.
He does not let it, grabbing onto whatever cold brushed against him with reflexes faster than the cold expected.
“Uhh,” the voice deadpans, a nice tenor tone, sounding like a choir of angels to Tim’s blissed out mind. “You alright there, buddy?”
“Better now,” Tim sighs, barely resisting relaxing completely against the pillar of cold beside him.
The voice of his angel continues.
“I’m gonna, just uh, go?”
Ohh, no, Tim can’t be having that.
“I will pay you anything you want if you come sit next to me.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Ten thous-”
“Deal.”
Tim latches on tighter, grabs his coffee with his other hand and drags the cold along with him, entirely focused on the four-seater table in the corner. He shoves the cold into the corner seat, pressing close enough to keep his hold, and finally takes a sip of his iced cold brew.
“Fuck yes,” he sighs as his brain kicks back into gear at the introduction of cold liquid life.
The cold starts shaking in his hand, and when Tim blearily looks over, he sees the cold is actually the hand of a person.
A very cute guy, in fact, who is currently fighting back a case of the giggles.
A very cute guy whose hand is still held tight in Tim’s own.
“Shit!” Tim yelps, dropping the guy’s hand like a hot potato.
A cold potato?
Whatever, puns are Dick’s specialty.
The point is, Tim finally realizes he’s just dragged a complete stranger all over the coffee shop, and he drops the guy’s hand as quickly as humanly possible.
“I am so sorry,” he apologizes, even as sweat starts building on his skin again.
Sitting near the guy, he can still feel a hint of the chill, but not nearly as much as while touching him.
The guy finally loses against his laughter, giggling so hard he has to set down his coffee, his now-free arms curling around his stomach as if to hold in more laughter.
“S’okay,” the guy replies through his giggles. “This’s the funniest shit that’s happened to me all week!”
Tim feels horrid heat flood his face, and he drops his head to the table beside his coffee with a mortified whine.
“Aw, it’s alright,” the guy says, his laughter mercifully cutting off, and his hand, his blessedly-cold hand, drops onto Tim’s head in a commiserating pat. “This heatwave is driving everyone up the wall.”
The cold rushes down Tim’s spine from the touch, and he relaxes completely, turning his head to face the stranger again.
“‘M Tim,” he sighs, his embarrassment fading in the face of such wonderful relief from the heat.
“Danny,” the stranger returns, his hand still on Tim’s head.
Then he slides his hand down to cup Tim’s neck with long frozen fingers, and Tim shudders at the delicious cold spreading through him anew.
“Poor guy,” Danny says, his voice almost cooing. “You’re really suffering, aren’t you?”
Normally Tim would hate that tone of voice directed at him. Normally Tim would shove himself away and attempt to gather literally any dignity and salvage his reputation as the cool and collected CEO of Wayne Enterprises.
This is not a normal situation.
And while he’s currently very cool, he’s not at all collected.
Tim literally feels like he’s about to dissolve into a wonderfully cold pile of snow any time Danny touches him, so he’s just gonna tell his dignity to take a long walk off a short pier.
“You feel so nice,” he sighs out, and he hears Danny stifle another snigger.
“Usually hear that in a very different setting than this one, but I’ll thank you all the same.”
Tim snorts, finally finding the strength to sit up and attempt to focus on his new acquaintance.
Danny’s hand shifts with him, and then slides down his arm to grasp Tim’s wrist instead.
“So, you come here often, Tim?”
When Tim looks over, Danny’s got a cocky smirk on his face, and now that he’s really paying attention, Tim realizes that Danny isn’t just cute.
He’s got bright blue eyes and deep black hair, the cocky smirk on his face showing just a hint of over-sharp canine, and Tim can feel his face flushing from something other than mortification now.
As cold as his touch leaves Tim, Danny’s hot, and as he watches Danny’s smirk grow, Tim curses his pale complexion.
“Hmg?” Tim manages, before his brain reboots and he scrambles to add, “Pretty much every day, yeah.”
Smooth, Tim thinks. Smooth-brained, that is.
Danny just smirks wider at that, one canine slipping over his bottom lip in a slick slide that threatens to send Tim’s thoughts straight to the gutter.
“Any reason you dragged me over here, all caveman-style?” He asks, and even with the chill pleasantly spiraling through him, Tim can feel the absolute blaze of his blush.
“I was just hot!” He defends himself. It’s a terrible defense, but he still makes it. “And your hand was so cold, and I haven’t had nearly enough coffee this morning. I’m so sorry I grabbed you like that.”
Danny waves the apology away with his free hand.
“It’s fine, I could’ve said ‘no’ any time. I don’t mind. You’re really that hot, huh?” He asks, eying Tim up and down.
“I feel like I climbed inside an oven,” Tim groans.
“Well maybe if you weren’t so overdressed, you wouldn’t be so hot,” Danny says, “Not that you don’t look good, but why so many layers, dude?”
Tim looks down at himself, at the pale blue linen suit he dug out of the back of his closet this morning. He practically had to dust it off, he’s worn it so few times, but it’s the lightest suit he owns.
His shirt is the lightest weight linen he could get away with, and the white fabric is pretty much sheer with sweat. He’s actually kinda thankful for the suit at the moment, since he’s fairly certain visible nipples would not be a good look for him.
“Dress code,” he answers, taking another sip of his coffee, enjoying the cold rush of the drink and the cold touch of his new acquaintance alike.
Danny’s nose crinkles in distaste. Tim fails to not find it cute.
“Oof, that sucks. I’m so glad Gotham U doesn’t have a dress code. Well, other than for labs, but safety concerns are a totally valid reason to dress up.”
“Board meetings are too, unfortunately,” Tim says, and Danny’s eyes widen.
“Wait, you’re already working? Wow, props to you, buddy.”
And now that his brain is mostly back online, that tells Tim a few things.
Danny obviously doesn’t know who he is, and while Tim would love for that to be the norm in his life, it really, really isn’t.
Everyone who sees him tends to figure him out pretty much instantly, and the few who don’t know who he is from his face alone nearly always clue in after hearing his name. Thankfully, native Gothamites tend to leave him be, but the tourists sometimes accost him for autographs.
Danny must be pretty new to Gotham if he doesn’t recognize Tim, especially in conjunction with his name. Either that or the guy lives under a rock.
The faint accent points toward out-of-towner though, so Tim comfortably assigns Danny ‘new in town’ status in his mind.
Actually, the fact that Danny hadn’t immediately yelled or yanked away when Tim grabbed him in public in the first place was also a dead giveaway that he wasn’t from Gotham.
A true Gothamite would never.
“So where do you work?” Danny asks, his finger idly stroking along the inside of Tim’s wrist.
“Wayne Enterprises,” Tim answers on autopilot, and when Danny’s eyes widen even further, Tim knows he’s finally figured out who he is.
“No way!” Danny says, breaking out into a bright smile again.
Tim leans back subtly, unwilling to break Danny’s cool hold on him, but also unwilling to be too close to a possible tourist fanboy.
“That’s where I’m aiming for!” Danny says, still with that same bright smile and his finger dancing along Tim’s pulse. “What division are you in? I’m going for aerospace myself.”
Oh. Oh, that’s odd.
Danny really doesn’t have the slightest idea who Tim is, and it’s unexpectedly nice.
“I’m in management,” Tim hedges, and he snorts when Danny’s nose wrinkles again.
“Ew,” Danny says, and Tim laughs outright. “Better you than me, I guess?”
Danny takes another drink of his hot coffee - hot on a day like this, why would he ever - and hums in pleasure.
The sound sends a lovely shiver down Tim’s spine, and he almost misses what Danny says next.
“Do you like it, at least?” Danny asks.
At first Tim thinks he’s talking about hot coffee, to which the answer would be a resounding, ‘Yes of course, when it’s not hot as hell outside and inside,’ but then Tim realizes Danny’s actually asking about his job in management.
“Surprisingly, yes.” Tim says. Then he thinks a bit more about his answer. “Sometimes.”
Danny laughs this time, and Tim smiles at him, enjoying the sound.
“Fair. I, for one, love aerospace engineering, and I’m really hoping to find a job at Wayne Enterprises, or at least snag an internship.” Danny gets a glint in his eye then, and when he speaks, he leans in close enough to Tim that his chilled breath ghosts across Tim’s face.
“Give me a tip?”
Tim half-chokes on the drink of coffee he’s taking, ending his sip with a hint of coffee in his sinuses and a tiny cough.
“Uhh,” he drones intelligently, and Danny leans back with a wide grin.
“I mean, they let you in,” he gestures to Tim with a wink - a wink, this smooth motherfucker - and that teasing grin. “What’s the secret to getting into Wayne Enterprises, Tim?”
The secret is I’m the boss, Tim thankfully doesn’t say, frantically snagging a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and wiping his face to catch any coffee he may or may not have snorted out his nose.
“I’d think the secret is to be competent,” he hedges, but Danny pouts at him.
“Well obviously, but I’m going for more than competent here. What would you say is the number one thing you’d look for in an aerospace engineer, if you were in charge?”
“Ingenuity,” Tim answers immediately. “Someone who’s got good ideas and can actually bring them to life.”
It’s pretty much verbatim what he says in his ‘Welcome to Wayne Enterprises’ outreach videos, the ones that go out to every school in Gotham, so he’s not really giving Danny a leg up on the competition here, but Danny’s eyes narrow and his mouth thins out as he nods seriously.
“Ingenuity, huh?” He muses, nodding to himself as he clearly thinks through Tim’s answer. “Ingenuity and competence. I think I can do that.”
Tim takes another sip of his coffee, and when he whips his head around to glance at it in disgust, Danny catches the movement.
“What happened? Bug in your brew?” Danny asks.
Tim must make a face in response, because Danny laughs again before he can answer.
“No, the coffee’s getting warm already.” Tim says, sighing forlornly afterward. Even his cold brew is betraying him today.
“Oh, is that all?” Danny asks, finally releasing Tim’s wrist and pulling away from him as he pushes up out of his chair. “Well, this has been delightful, but I’ve got homework and project proposals to get done, so I’ve gotta jet.”
Tim sighs. He’s already getting hot again and Danny’s barely a foot away.
“Alright,” he says, fighting not to whine the word. “I’ve definitely taken up enough of your time today.”
Danny smiles at him as he stands from his seat, edging out of the way so Danny can pass by.
Danny pauses once he’s past Tim, and Tim sits back down and tries not to pout at the loss of his human cold pack.
"One for the road?" Danny asks, leaning down towards Tim, and for a split second Tim thinks he’s going to kiss him.
All he can think is how cold Danny’s lips must be, how cold his tongue must be, what it would feel like pressed against his own, and he leans back to give Danny a little more room to maneuver.
Thankfully he doesn’t tilt his chin up for a kiss or anything, because it turns out that’s not what Danny’s aiming for at all. He instead braces one hand on Tim’s shoulder and leans down to press a finger to the side of Tim’s coffee. At a single touch, frost spirals out across Tim's cup, coating his drink in gorgeous fractals of ice.
Tim’s eyes widen. He can feel the chill wafting off of the drink from where he sits, and he knows without a doubt that the coffee inside will be so much colder than it had been before.
He’d even bet it’ll be colder than it was when the barista passed it to him.
Tim blinks at his drink, then looks back up at Danny.
“You’re a god among men,” he tells him as seriously as he can.
Considering Tim is who he is, he can be pretty damn serious when he wants to be.
He’s also pretty damn sure that Danny is a Mr. Freeze henchman just waiting to happen, but Danny’s definitely given Tim enough of a gift to justify leaving him the hell off Batman’s radar, so Tim’s gonna just pretend he never saw any meta-ability at all. Just a guy with cold hands who put up with Tim’s company for a quick buck.
Nothing to see here.
“I try,” Danny laughs, pushing Tim’s newly-chilled coffee into his hands. It’s deliciously cold beneath his fingertips.
“See you around, Tim,” Danny says, striding out of their little corner of the coffee shop before pushing out the door and confidently setting off into the too-bright sunlight.
Tim looks forlornly after him, taking a sip of his absolutely frigid coffee and sighing in relief.
His breath is so cold it actually mists the air for a brief moment in time.
All is well in Tim’s little corner of the world.
It’s then that the barista, who of course actually recognizes him and is well-accustomed to his unhinged ways, calls out, “You didn’t pay him, Mr. Drake-Wayne.”
“Shit.” Tim says to himself, flinging himself out of chair coffee-first. “Thanks, Susan,” he calls out over his shoulder, already speed-walking out the door after Danny.
“Wait!” He yells, seeing Danny already halfway down the block.
Danny pauses and turns back, clearly confused. Tim jogs up to him, cursing the heat under his breath as he moves. The cup in his hand is still cold to the touch, but it’s not enough to fight against the direct sunlight beating down on him and the humid air clogging his lungs.
Sweat is streaming down his face again when he reaches Danny, and Tim is embarrassed at the amount of sweat just from the short jog.
Fuck this weather, this is ridiculous. He’s Red Robin, for fuck’s sake, a half-assed jog down the sidewalk should not have him sweating this much.
Danny raises an eyebrow at his state.
“Wow, you really aren’t made for this weather, huh?”
Tim doesn’t even bother with an answer, just fishes his checkbook out of his laptop bag and scrawls a neat ten thousand across it.
“Full name?” He asks.
Danny raises the other eyebrow.
Astonishingly, he answers right away. This guy’s got no sense of stranger danger at all.
“Danny Nightingale, why?”
At least he’s asking questions, Tim thinks. Even if he’s asking too late.
Tim finishes the check and tears it out, passing it over to Danny. When their fingers brush as the check passes hands, Tim sighs at the full-body wave of cold that spreads through him.
It’s somehow even better than it was the first time.
“What?!” Danny shrieks, right next to Tim’s ear.
“What?!” Tim shouts back, leaping away from the aural assault even as he whips his head around to see what could’ve made Danny scream out like that.
He doesn’t see Mr. Freeze tearing down the street to collect his wayward henchman, so Tim relaxes, only to notice when he looks back at Danny that Tim’s the one Danny is staring at in shock.
“What?” He asks again, calmer now that he knows there isn’t any danger.
“You actually wrote me a ten thousand dollar check!” Danny whisper-shouts, pushing the check back towards Tim as if in evidence of his words. Like Tim didn’t already know what he himself did.
“I said I would,” Tim replies, blinking in confusion.
“I thought you were joking,” Danny hisses, still holding the check out.
Tim’s not about to take it back, so he pushes Danny’s hand back toward his own chest, getting another wave of lovely cold rushing through his body as a reward.
“Well, I clearly wasn’t.” Tim says, and his tone should signify that this is the end of the conversation, but Danny clearly doesn’t pick up on that.
“You are a very strange man,” Danny hisses again, clutching the check with both hands now like he’s clutching his pearls.
“I get that a lot,” Tim laughs, thinking of Dick’s reaction the last time he caught him eating instant coffee out of the jar.
“You’re seriously going to pay me ten k just for keeping you cool in a coffee shop?” Danny wheezes, finally seeming to calm down.
“Yes. I seriously am.” Tim says, smiling at Danny. He can’t help but be fond of the guy. Not only has he given Tim a wonderfully cold morning in the middle of this horrible heat wave, he’s also got a refreshingly innocent feeling to him.
Like a snow angel.
…
Tim’s never going to live that down, not even in the confines of his own mind.
The heat must’ve broken his brain-to-brain filter somehow, because there’s no way he would’ve ever honestly thought that on his own.
Hopefully he’ll never see Martian Manhunter again, and no one will ever know how much of a sentimental idiot he is.
If he thinks any more about Danny the snow angel, he’s gonna spontaneously combust from embarrassment, so instead he blurts out the very next thing that comes to mind.
“I’ll pay you more than that if you follow me around all day and keep me cold.”
Hm.
The heat must have broken his brain-to-mouth filter too.
Danny bursts out laughing all over again, and while Tim doesn’t exactly enjoy being laughed at, he does enjoy the sound of Danny’s incredulous laughter, and the delighted sparkle in his eyes when he looks at him.
And even though Danny’s clearly not suffering anywhere near as much as Tim is, the heat must’ve broken something in his brain too. Because he answers far too quickly and far too decisively to be firing on all cylinders.
“You know what? Deal.”
Danny reaches out a hand and smiles charmingly at Tim, like Tim even needed to be charmed in the first place. He was a goner from their first touch.
“You gotta get to your board meeting, right? Lead the way, boss.”
So Tim takes Danny’s hand again, the cold spiraling up through their touch and all along his body, chilling him to the bone, a pleasant shield against the heat of the day.
This is going to be the start of something beautiful.
Tim just knows it.