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Bruce Wayne has not yet had the pleasure of meeting Bernard Dowd properly, even if he and Tim had been dating for almost an entire month. It is still rather early for such a step, perhaps.
Schedules are difficult to work around, with their night time activities and Bruce retaking the position as Wayne Industries CEO, as well as Bernard's classes and EMT training (a respectable career indeed). That, and Bruce has a sneaking suspicion his son is purposefully preventing a meeting as best he can. Surely it can't be that difficult to invite someone over for lunch on the weekends?
Bruce has even mentioned that he is willing to go down to Gotham Marina to have a meal in Tim's… boat. Tim is not as fond of the idea.
Regardless, Bruce has heard plenty about the Dowd boy that he might as well have met him. Sure, the comments have been offhanded mentions of nonsensical facts that do not at all tell Bruce whether or not he's a good match for his son, but a little information is better than nothing at all.
For example, Bruce knows that Bernard has freckles (as stated by Tim's apparent infatuation to count them all) (truth toxin) and that he has a particular disgust (but not allergy) for almonds and pistachios. Bruce is aware that Bernard perhaps does not have the best relationship with his parents through carefully worded excuses from Tim over the holiday season and dresses far too inappropriately for the Gotham winter.
"And he smells like birthday cake," Tim sighs sadly from the floor, face buried in his hands.
And he smells like birthday cake, apparently.
Bruce hums absently, scrolling on his tablet, "That's nice."
Tim groans, falling back against the rug dramatically just as Alfred walks into the study, a silver tray with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. The butler pays no mind to the teenager sprawled on the floor — which says a lot about them as a family — easily sidestepping him to get to the table.
"I've ruined everything!" Tim cries, just short from hysterical.
"Thank you," Bruce tells Alfred when he puts down the tray, before peering down at his son, "Come have some tea, Tim."
"My relationship is on the verge of collapsing and you want me to have tea?" He demands.
Alfred moves around him to get to the bookshelf, feather duster in hand, "There are sugar cookies too, made by Master Jason."
"You both are underestimating the severity of the situation at hand," Tim tells them seriously, though Alfred makes a great show of only focusing on reorganising Bruce's decade-old bookshelf, rolling so he's face down on the carpet, "I'm going to die alone."
"What did you do?" Bruce settles on asking, because he shouldn't promise that Tim won't die alone, not until he's figured out what has warranted such a reaction. It is a completely plausible outcome these days.
"I kissed him." Tim admits mournfully.
Bruce takes a sip of his tea, pauses, and then carefully asks, "Who?"
Infidelity would certainly lead to dying alone. Tim should know better.
Tim manages to raise his head from the carpet to give Bruce a slightly betrayed expression, "Who else? Bernard! Or — or he kissed me actually. I just... sat there. But that's not the worst part, no, the worst part is what I said to him. "
Bruce doesn't pretend he understands half of what his children say on a good day, but this is definitely a hard code to decipher. Tim doesn't seem repulsed by this kiss, and he is nineteen years old — surely this should be normal and expected development a month into a relationship. Besides, this isn't even Tim's first relationship.
But this is different, somehow, though Bruce doesn't know why.
"So, he kissed you," Bruce repeats, looking over the rim of his teacup to peer down at his son, who's still face down on the carpet, "And you said…?"
"Thank you," Tim groans, voice muffled by the floor, "I said thank you."
Bruce grunts in confirmation, looking over to Alfred for guidance. What does one say in a situation like this? None of his other children had cared much for Bruce's advice on relationships. He is entirely out of the depth and mildly uncomfortable, but he's not going to prevent a moment to parent his child — no matter how unsettled he is.
Bruce clears his throat, "Well, that was very polite of you."
Alfred, in a rare show of exasperation, rolls his eyes, but otherwise pretends he's temporarily lost all hearing of the current conversation.
He imagines Tim does the same, since the only sound that comes from him is a long and pained grunt.
"I'm going to die alone," his son echoes after a moment.
"I'm not sure what the issue is," Bruce admits with defeat, putting down his cup, "Was Bernard… offended that you said thank you?"
Tim sighs, finally sitting up, and Bruce can see the red marks of the carpet against his face, "No but — but it definitely surprised him. I don't even know why I said that. Who says that? He hasn't texted me since. It's been two days."
Suddenly, Bruce is struck with an irksome thought, and he sighs, rubbing the corner of his eyes tiredly, "Tim, son, what did you do after you said that?"
"I left immediately, like, got up and ran, left my hoodie and everything," Tim tells him absently, as if that should have been an obvious deduction — though the verbal admittance of it is enough to startle some common sense into him, because Tim's eyes widen comically;
"Oh fuck! I left."
Alfred clears his throat, and Tim manages to look somewhat scolded for his colourful language, but as he said previously, the severity of the situation at hand (that Bruce is now startling to realise) is far more threatening than being forced to drop a handful of notes into the metaphorical swear jar. Bruce sighs again, at a lack of much else to do.
"He kissed you, and then you left in a hurry without clarifying why," Bruce clarifies, "I do not think your detective skills are needed to locate the issue there."
"I'm a terrible human being," Tim states.
"You should call him," Bruce continues, without disagreeing, since it would do no good to try and convince his son that such hiccups in a relationship were normal, picking up his tea again.
Tim nods, scrambling to get to his feet and patting at his back pockets for his phone, "I should — you're right. I should call him."
"Perhaps some tea first, Master Tim?" Alfred tells him gently when Tim turns to make a break for the door.
His son stops, looking back at Bruce and his desk, where Tim's untouched cup and carefully isolated Red Hood baked-exclusive sugar cookie sits patiently. Bruce had hoped they'd share tea together, since Tim had arrived at the manor in a frenzy just in time — but Bruce also remembers being young and in love, and how all encompassing it can be at times. He's not too fussed.
Though, he is rather happy when Tim puts his phone back in his pocket and walks over to the desk.
Tim chooses to sit on the chairs in front of his desk instead of the rug this time, thankfully, but doesn't immediately grab his tea or cookie. In fact, Tim seems perfectly content to glare into the silver tray as thought it has personally offended him.
"You two seem good for each other," Bruce tells him genuinely when the boys frown only deepens, watching Tim slowly look away from the tray and at him instead.
He takes a deep breath in, "Yeah we — I'm… really happy. He's good."
Bruce smiles, "I'm sure he is."
He hopes he gets to meet Bernard one day, even if it is just to say thank you for making Tim so happy.
Eventually, Tim swallows the lump in his throat and grabs his own cup of tea, and bashfully says, "Thanks for… you know. Listening to me."
"Of course, chum," Bruce smiles as best he can, then smirks, because he can't quite help it, "Though, you do have a terrible habit of saying thank you excessively, it seems."
Tim's timidness is immediately replaced with a familiar embarrassed blush, and he glares at Bruce in sheepish outrage, "Bruce it isn't funny! You can't tell anyone about this! I will literally die of embarrassment and it will be on your conscience forever."
Bruce shrugs, grinning wolfishly and hiding it behind his cup, "Scout's honour, son. I won't tell a soul."
"Good because if Dick ever finds out then he'll never let me — hey wait, you were never a boy scout... Bruce!"