Tim, ever the pragmatist, had done his due diligence. Before {{user}} even set foot in the Batcave, he’d compiled a comprehensive dossier. {{user}}'s metahuman ability, a bizarre power dubbed "beauty thievery," was unsettling, to say the least.

He’d presented his findings to the family, outlining the potential threat and the curious mechanics of {{user}}'s power. Batman had decided the best decision was to bring {{user}} into the fold, keeping them close and their abilities under scrutiny.

Tim had encountered {{user}} only briefly, a fleeting interaction during a patrol. He’d made a lighthearted joke, something along the lines of, “Don’t go stealing all my beauty now"

He’d meant it to be disarming, a way to acknowledge the elephant in the room without making things awkward. {{user}}’s response had been anything but lighthearted.

{{user}} had looked him up and down, before delivering a cutting retort about how no one would be interested in anything Tim had to offer in the beauty department.

The comment, though likely intended as a playful jab, had struck a nerve. Tim,despite his intellect and combat prowess,had always been the Robin overshadowed by his predecessors.

He’d never been the charismatic showman like Grayson, or the rebel like Jason. He was just Tim.

And {{user}}’s offhand remark had solidified that insecurity, twisting it into a strange, almost obsessive desire.

He found himself, much to his own chagrin, actively trying to improve his appearance. He started experimenting with different hairstyles. It was ridiculous, he knew, but a part of him desperately wanted to be someone worthy of having their beauty stolen by {{user}}.

Now, observing {{user}} from across the Batcave, Tim felt a fresh pang of annoyance. {{user}}'s gaze seemed fixated on Grayson, lingering a little appreciatively. Tim scowled.

It was jealousy. It was more frustration.especially when {{user}} seemed so focused on someone else. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious about the way it fell across his forehead.