🪼

🪼: Dick ‘Nightwing’ Grayson

The 1 - She believed they were something real. He never did. Part Two.

Seeing if he melts with a kiss… - Based on the TikTok trend "seeing if he melts with a kiss".

You belong with me - Your best friend is dating, but you don't think his girlfriend is right for him. Part Two.

Spending his money - Dick's wife decided to get back at him by spending his money.

Cellphone - You want your boyfriend to put down his phone and pay attention to you.

Great for hiding - You and Dick Grayson are finally together, keeping it a secret from the Young Justice, but it was obvious it wouldn't last, because he's a terrible liar and can't keep his hands off you.

𝜗ৎ: Jason ‘Red Hood’ Todd

Impressing the angels with your laughter. - Five years after Jason's death, he is still the only one...

Your grumpy little brother-in-law loves you. - You seem to be the only person that Damian Wayne, your grumpy little brother-in-law, seems to want around.

You raise an eyebrow, already expecting trouble, and walk over to her. The mattress dips as you sit down beside her.

“Why don’t you go to New York?” you ask, placing your hands on her shoulders and giving her a light shake, trying to bring her back to reality.

Artemis blinks a few times, as if coming out of a trance.

“I’m in love,” she declares, placing a hand over her chest. “I think I’m going to die… my heart is going tum tum tum tum tum!”

You close your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before answering firmly:

“Then make sure it goes tum tum, not tum tum tum tum tum!” Your voice comes out harsher than expected. “You have to go. It’s your chance, Artemis. A new heart… a normal life… peace.”

She suddenly sits up, indignant.

“I can’t!” she shoots back, crossing her arms. “I need to win over the love of my life.”

A tired sigh escapes you.

“Okay…” you give in, running a hand over your face. “Tell me.”

Instantly, her mood shifts. Artemis turns to you with sparkling eyes and grabs your shoulders, shaking you excitedly.

“He’s perfect!” she says, almost breathless. “His eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen!”

She lets go of you and stares out the window, completely lost in thought.

“He was so kind… he helped me carry all my things home when he saw I couldn’t manage…” she gives a small smile.

“Maybe he felt sorry for me, since I said I had a heart condition…”

You narrow your eyes.

“Which isn’t a lie,” she quickly adds, as if justifying herself to the universe.

“But that’s not the point,” she continues, excited again. “The best part is that he studies at our school!”

Now you really raise an eyebrow.

“And he was wearing an ID badge?” you ask, already putting the pieces together.

“Yes!” she answers, way too excited. “And he has the most beautiful name of all.”

Artemis throws herself back onto the bed, hugging the pillow, sighing as if she were in a romance novel.

“His name is Wallace West… it’s perfect.”

You lie down beside her, staring at the ceiling as well, but with a much less dreamy expression.

“You still have to go to New York, Artemis…” you say, more calmly now. “Wallece—”

“Wallace!” she corrects immediately, turning her face toward you.

You let out a small sigh.

“Right… Wallace will still be here when you come back.” You turn your head to look at her. “This is for your own good.”

For a moment, the room falls silent.

“I know…” Artemis finally says, her voice quieter now, almost resigned. “But you have to promise me something.”

You turn your face to look at her, surprised by the shift in tone—and maybe a little relieved.

“Anything for you and your new life!” you reply too quickly, already smiling, thinking you’ve finally won.

Artemis suddenly sits up, her eyes lighting up again—but now with that dangerous sparkle you know all too well.

“While I’m in New York, you’re going to find out everything about him for me!” she blurts out. “His height, his favorite game, his favorite movie, whether he has siblings… everything!”

The smile on your face disappears instantly.

Slowly, you start shaking your head no.

Artemis, on the other hand, does the exact opposite—nodding yes, with a stubborn, almost childish pout.

“I’m not going to turn into a stalker, Artemis.”

“Please!” she insists, leaning closer. “I’m really in love. You have to do this…”

“No.”

“Not even if it’s for me… and my new life… and my new heart?” she asks, widening her eyes in a perfect puppy look.

You immediately cross your arms, indignant.

“You can’t use your illness against me! That’s unethical.”

Artemis sighs, frustrated, but doesn’t give up.

“How many times have you seen me like this?” she shoots back, placing a hand over her chest again. “I swear I’m in love!”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“Don’t even start, Artemis Crock.” Your eyes narrow. “Just yesterday you were convinced the movie theater clerk was the love of your life and you kept going every day just to see him.”

Artemis makes a face, as if that detail is completely irrelevant.

“But this time I swear it’s different!” she insists, already grabbing your shoulders and shaking you hard. “Please!”

“Okay… I’ll do it, but please, pack your bags already.” you sigh, finally giving in, defeat evident in your voice.

For a second, Artemis stays completely still, as if she didn’t process what she just heard.

“Seriously?” Artemis practically shouts, her eyes widening with pure excitement.

You can’t help a small smile at her reaction.

“Yes… anything for you.” you reply, letting out a light laugh.

And that’s all she needs.

“Oh my God, I love you, I love you, I love you!” Artemis blurts out, already throwing herself on top of you without warning, wrapping you in a tight hug.

The impact almost knocks you back onto the bed, and you laugh, unable to hold it in.

“I love you too.” you say, still laughing, hugging her back.

And even knowing you’ve just gotten yourself into a questionable plan… deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t be able to say no to her.

—

It all started on a Monday.

Artemis had left for New York on Saturday, and while you were saying goodbye to her at the airport, she kept repeating—the same thing—for the thousandth time:

Find out everything about that Wallace guy.

And that’s how your mission began.

In the classroom, leaning subtly over your desk, you moved closer to the classmate beside you, lowering your voice to almost a whisper:

“Do you know Wallace?”

She turned her head slightly, confused.

“Wallace? No…”

You frowned, pushing a little further:

“Are you sure? His last name is West…”

For a second, she seemed to think—until her eyes lit up.

“West? Oooh… you mean Wally?”

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Wally? Is that a nickname?”

“Yes,” she replied, now with a slight smile. “He’s friends with Dick Grayson.”

Your interest immediately spiked.

“What class is he—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

The teacher’s voice cut through the air like a blade:

“Since you two understand the material so well that you can sit there chatting… how about you come up here and explain it for me?”

Silence fell over the room.

You and your classmate exchanged a glance for a second, sharing the exact same thought.

“No, thank you,” you both replied in perfect sync.

The teacher let out an almost satisfied sigh.

“That’s what I thought.”

As soon as you left the classroom, you didn’t waste time—you headed straight to the office. Your mind was already racing, trying to come up with a foolproof plan to find out everything about this Wallace guy.

Seriously… who, in their right mind, names their kid Wallace West?

You almost rolled your eyes just thinking about it.

As you walked down the hallway, distracted, staring at your phone and lost in possibilities—stalking social media, asking around discreetly, maybe even “accidentally” bumping into him—you didn’t notice when you walked straight into something… or rather, someone.

A solid chest.

The impact made you take a small step back.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry, I was distracted,” said a male voice, hurried.

“No, it’s fine. I was…” you started, looking up.

And then you stopped.

Completely.

For a second—or maybe several—the world just… froze.

Because the boy in front of you wasn’t just handsome. He was absurd.

Like… unreal.

Too beautiful to exist on the same plane as you.

He seemed slightly embarrassed by the silence, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and scratching it lightly, glancing away for a moment.

“I’m Dick Grayson,” he said, extending his hand.

Your brain took a second to start working again.

“I’m…” you began, reaching out yours as well.

But you stopped halfway through the gesture.

Wait. Dick Grayson?

Your eyes widened.

At that exact moment, you were absolutely certain: you had just hit the lottery.

Damn, universe… sometimes you’re really freaking amazing.

“You’re Wally’s friend, right?” you asked, now with an excitement you couldn’t hide.

Dick frowned slightly, confused by the sudden shift in energy.

“Yeah…? I am.”

“Great! You guys are in the same class?” you shot back, already leaning forward a little, eager.

“Yeah…?” he answered again, more like a question than a statement.

You were practically about to spontaneously combust.

“Which one?”

“Which one what?” he blinked, lost.

“The class. Which class?”

“AP,” he replied simply.

You opened your mouth, shocked.

Advanced Placement.

Damn.

“Why are you—” he tried to ask, still clearly trying to understand what was going on.

But you didn’t let him finish.

“Okay, thanks, Dick! You were really helpful!” you said quickly, already turning away.

And then you practically ran down the hallway, your heart racing, grabbing your phone along the way.

Artemis needed to know this.

Now.

—

Artemis practically freaked out when you told her that Wally was in advanced placement.

On the other end of the call, you could hear the exact moment the information hit—a two-second silence… and then a scream.

“OH MY GOD!”

You even pulled the phone away from your ear.

“He’s the love of my life!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

But, to be honest, you had been surprised too. Advanced placement? Wally West definitely wasn’t just some random guy.

And without even realizing it, you started getting pulled into it as well.

The mission. The excitement. Her hope.

Because when it came to Artemis… you were never left out.

After the call ended, the silence came. And it hit hard.

You missed her. A lot. It felt way too strange.

You had never spent this much time apart—and it had only been two days.

Two days. It felt like weeks.

Artemis wasn’t just your best friend. She was your other half.

The part of you that laughed louder, that spoke without thinking, that turned any ordinary moment into something memorable.

She was… home.

And maybe that was exactly why the fear never completely went away.

The last time Artemis had a heart attack, you thought you were going to lose her.

You remembered every detail—the panic, the sound of the machines, the cold that took over your body while you waited for any news.

You cried like you had never cried before. And you prayed.

You prayed like your life depended on it. Like she was your life.

And now… now everything was about to change.

Artemis would finally have a new heart. A new chance.

And for the first time in a long time, along with the fear… came something different.

Hope.

—

Tuesday.

You walked through the school gates with your mind far away, completely consumed by a single thought. Artemis’s obsession wasn’t just hers anymore—it had become yours too. Now, everything occupying your head was one mission: finding out every detail about Wally West.

And then, as if the universe decided to cooperate, you saw him.

In the hallway outside your classroom, Dick Grayson was casually talking to a red-haired boy, full of freckles, with that effortlessly carefree air that drew attention without trying. Your eyes immediately dropped to the ID badge clipped to his uniform.

Wallace West.

Your heart gave a small jump.

Finally. Now you had a face. Everything got easier from there.

Without thinking much—or maybe thinking too much—you walked up to them and stopped right in front of them.

“Hi! Wally, right?”

Wally West raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your sudden intrusion. For a second, he seemed to analyze you… but soon a light, self-assured smile appeared.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Wally.”

You rolled your eyes immediately.

Maybe he wasn’t as much of a “dream prince” as Artemis had painted him.

“Come on, Wally! Stop being a flirt.” Dick cut in, lightly shoving his shoulder with a half-smile.

And that’s when you really looked at him.

Dick.

He was… more handsome today. Or maybe you were just noticing more.

The thought caught you off guard, and heat rushed straight to your face.

“Hi, Dick. How are you?” you said, smiling slightly as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to look more natural than you felt.

He tilted his head, watching you with that almost teasing smile.

“Hi… I’d say your name, but you didn’t tell me yesterday.”

Your eyes widened instantly. Damn.

You said your name quickly, feeling the embarrassment heat your cheeks even more.

“I’m sorry! It’s just that I had—”

“It’s okay!” he interrupted, letting out a soft laugh. “I was just joking.”

“So… can we get back to this guy here?” Wally West said, raising his eyebrows while pointing at himself.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You stayed quiet for a moment, your brain scrambling desperately for a convincing excuse—anything that wouldn’t sound completely absurd. But in the end, the words just came out… way too simple.

“Right, Wally… I’m doing a survey with all the students at school. Want to participate?”

He gave an easy smile, not suspecting a thing.

“Sure! What kind of survey?”

“Doesn’t matter!” you replied way too quickly. “Favorite movie?”

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

You immediately raised an eyebrow.

He blushed right away, bringing a hand to the back of his neck, scratching it lightly, a bit embarrassed.

“What? I’m a romantic guy.”

You let out a quiet “hmm,” trying not to laugh.

“Okay… a sport?”

“Running.”

“Type of girl?”

This time, both he and Dick Grayson raised their eyebrows at the same time, staring at you.

You froze.

“Very… forward?” you tried, already feeling the regret creeping in.

They both nodded together. Damn.

“Okay, Wally! The survey was very efficient. Thank you for your participation,” you blurted out, way too fast, already turning to leave before you said anything else stupid.

“Hey, shouldn’t you do the survey with me too?”

Dick’s voice came right after, and before you could get far, he lightly grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

The touch made you pause. You turned back.

“No… just Wally is enough.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized.

His cheeks turned slightly red.

“Okay…”

Your heart dropped. Damn. Damn, damn.

“No!” you rushed, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to be rude! You’re really interesting, and you must be really nice, and you’re also really handsome! I didn’t want to offend you, I swear, I just…”

The words started tumbling over each other, one after another, as you stared at the floor, completely out of control.

He said your name, and you stopped.

You blinked.

“Yes?” you looked up, meeting his eyes.

“It’s okay.” He smiled.

And it felt like all the air had been pulled out of your lungs at once.

You nodded, a bit speechless.

“Okay… see you later…”

Your voice came out softer than usual, filled with embarrassment, as you finally walked away and entered the classroom.

But as soon as you crossed the door, your steps slowed down.

You stopped. Wait.

Your mind replayed every second. Every word. Every mistake.

Your eyes widened.

And you’re also really handsome…

Your heart raced. Oh my God…

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

—

After the minor meltdown you had when you realized you had called Dick handsome, you spent the first classes completely distracted, replaying the moment in your head and trying—without much success—not to die of embarrassment every time you remembered it.

At lunch, without Artemis by your side, everything felt emptier.

You sat alone, pushing the food around on your plate without really paying attention. Thinking about her made your chest tighten. Today was the day of the surgery. You couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t do anything except wait.

And then there would still be three months in New York… three months for the doctors to evaluate whether she would really be well enough to come back home.

You let out a quiet sigh, your gaze distant.

“So… what’s bothering you that you’ve got that sad face?”

Dick’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. When you turned your head, he was already sitting down to your right, setting his tray on the table with an easy movement.

You raised an eyebrow, still a little surprised.

“Come on, girl! Cheer up! It’s a beautiful day.”

Wally showed up right after, dropping onto the seat to your left, completing the “trap” and leaving you even more confused.

You looked from one to the other.

“Did I miss something?”

“No,” Dick replied, with a soft, almost gentle smile. “We just saw you alone and decided to sit with you.”

“Yeah,” Wally added, shrugging. “Nobody deserves to eat alone.”

You let out a small sigh, looking away.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, sunshine. We like you.”

The natural way Dick said that made your heart do a strange little jump—and your cheeks warm instantly.

“‘Sunshine,’ huh, Grayson?” Wally teased, with a mischievous grin.

“Shut up, Wallace.”

Dick replied without even looking at him, flipping him off completely naturally.

You couldn’t help it—a light laugh escaped, easing a bit of the weight in your chest.

—

Spending lunch with the boys had been surprisingly fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed that much—those real laughs that make your stomach hurt and your eyes water. And, as a perfect bonus, you had managed to gather plenty of information about Wally to tell Artemis. One of them, maybe the funniest, was the fact that he was completely awkward with girls.

Now, back in your room, lying on your bed and staring at the ceiling, you were still smiling as you remembered some moments from lunch. That’s when your phone vibrated beside you. You picked it up without much hurry… until you saw the name on the screen.

In one motion, you answered.

“Artemis!” you practically shouted, your voice full of excitement.

On the other end, she laughed—that familiar laugh you missed so much.

“Calling the best friend of all.”

“That’s me!” you replied, unable to hold back your smile. “How are you? Are you feeling okay? What’s it like having a new heart? Are they treating you right?”

“One question at a time, please!” she said, laughing. “But yes, I’m okay. And… I miss you so much.”

Your smile softened a little, replaced by a tight feeling in your chest.

“I miss you too…” you admitted, quieter. “But seriously, are they treating you well?”

“The doctors are amazing. They take great care of me.” Artemis let out a light sigh. “And you… how’s school without me?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, turning onto your side on the bed.

“Lonely. Very lonely.” You paused before adding, sincerely: “Come back soon. I don’t know how to live without my other half.”

“I love you,” she replied, her smile audible in her voice. “And I’ll be back soon. For you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full of longing, of affection, of everything you didn’t need to say out loud.

Until, of course…

“Sooo…” Artemis dragged out, in a not-so-innocent tone. “And Wally?”

You rolled your eyes automatically, even though she couldn’t see you, and let out a laugh.

“Okay, okay! I found out a lot,” you said, adjusting yourself on the bed. “For example… his favorite movie is How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

“No way!” Artemis practically screamed. “That’s mine too!”

You raised an eyebrow, even though you were alone.

“No, it’s not.”

“Shut up,” she shot back, laughing. “Keep going.”

“He likes running,” you added, distracted.

“So he’s popular?” Artemis asked immediately.

You thought for a second.

“I think so… kind of.”

On the other end of the line, she sighed in that dreamy way you knew so well.

“And… is he tall?” she insisted.

“About 6’0,” you answered.

“Really?” Artemis said, surprised. “I thought he’d be shorter…”

You smiled to yourself, staring at the ceiling again.

“Does he have friends?” Artemis asked, curiosity obvious in her voice.

You opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated for a second.

Your heart sped up without warning, as if caught off guard by your own thoughts. The image came almost instantly—the easy smile, the light way he carried himself, the look that always seemed attentive to everything… Dick.

You swallowed before answering, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“He does…” your voice came out a little softer than expected, but you continued. “A best friend. Dick Grayson, that’s his name.”

Without realizing it, you let out a soft sigh, almost distracted, as if the name itself carried some kind of weight.

“They say he was adopted by Bruce Wayne.”

On the other end, Artemis reacted immediately.

“Whoa, Bruce Wayne?!” she said, impressed. “That’s so lucky!”

You let out a short laugh, but your mind lingered for a second longer than it should have.

And the conversation went on for hours.

Without realizing it, you moved from one topic to another—Wally, school, memories, dumb jokes. The laughs came easily, just like they always had between you.

Lying on your bed, you smiled to yourself, listening to her voice fill the silence of your room.

Even far away, everything felt the same. Artemis was still your other half.

—

A whole week had passed, and you still hadn’t managed to find out absolutely anything about Wally.

In fact, there wasn’t even much opportunity for it. He just… didn’t show up. Neither did Dick. It was strange. Too unusual. You caught yourself wondering why—and, more importantly, how the two of them managed to keep up with advanced placement while disappearing like that.

Without seeing them, everything became harder.

And it wasn’t like you could just go around asking people. No one would know more personal things—how many siblings he had, where he had traveled, what his favorite food was… simple details that somehow felt impossible to reach.

When you walked into class that day, everything felt the same. Routine. Repetition. You sat in your usual seat, resting your arm on the desk, a little distracted.

It was almost by accident that you looked out the window beside you.

And, damn… good thing you did.

On the basketball court down below, there he was.

Dick Grayson.

He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his torso, and for a second—just one—the world seemed to pause.

Damn.

He had muscles. A lot of them. Well-defined. It was almost ridiculous. You could literally count each one.

Your mind, completely unfiltered, fired off:

Would he let me study anatomy with him?

Heat rushed instantly to your face, your cheeks burning as you looked away—too late.

A throat clearing beside you snapped you back to reality like a slap.

“Miss,” the teacher’s voice cut through the air, firm, “since you’re so interested in the shirtless boys down there, how about you go join them?”

Your heart practically jumped into your throat.

You turned your head slowly, meeting her gaze, and felt the heat rise even more.

“What? No! I wasn’t looking, I was…” your sentence died halfway through, completely tangled.

The teacher raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“Pay more attention in class, miss.”

And without waiting for a response, she turned back to the board.

You sank slightly into your chair, wishing you could disappear right then and there.

—

After school, the sun was already starting to dip below the horizon, painting everything in that beautiful golden late-afternoon glow. That’s when you finally saw them.

Wally West and Dick Grayson were sitting side by side, leaning against the trunk of a large tree, talking as if the world around them didn’t exist.

Your heart sped up instantly.

Without thinking much, you approached slowly, trying not to make any noise, and leaned against the other side of the tree, holding your breath so you could listen.

“So, which club are you joining?” Wally asked, absentmindedly fiddling with a leaf on the ground.

“I think the debate club… and, obviously, the sports one too,” Dick replied, his tone light, almost careless.

“Oh yeah?” Wally said, turning to look at him. “Then I’ll join the debate club too.”

Your eyes widened, and an involuntary smile spread across your lips.

That’s it. Decided.

You were joining the debate club.

Before you could overthink it, you stepped away from the tree and started walking toward the exit, pretending you were just passing by. But you didn’t even take two full steps before you heard your name.

You stopped.

Took a deep breath.

And turned around slowly.

“Hey! How are you?” Dick asked, and for a second—just one—you had the impression his cheeks were slightly flushed.

“Hi, Dick! I’m good… and you?” you replied, smiling, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating.

“Good…” he said, a little awkwardly.

The silence that followed was heavy. Strange. Almost suffocating.

No one seemed to know what to say.

Until…

Wally cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

“So…” he started, looking from you to Dick. “Which club are you joining?”

“Debate!” you answered way too quickly, without even thinking.

Dick’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Really? I’m joining that one too,” he said, excited.

Wally raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a half-smile.

“Actually, both of us are joining.”

“Yeah,” Dick confirmed, nodding. “Both of us.”

And that made your smile grow even more.

“Okay, I gotta go. See you two tomorrow.” Wally said quickly, already turning his back before either you or Dick had time to respond.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him walk away, then turned your gaze back to Dick. The silence that replaced the conversation felt too heavy, slightly uncomfortable, like neither of you really knew what to say.

Dick cleared his throat softly.

You took a breath and decided to break it before it got worse.

“Why did you miss the last few days?”

He looked at you… and smiled.

“You noticed?”

You nodded, lightly crossing your arms. “Yeah. You and Wally were gone.”

“Oh… yeah, Wally too…” He brought a hand to the back of his neck, scratching it lightly, as if caught off guard.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “So… why?”

“Why what?” he shot back, trying to buy time.

You raised an eyebrow, impatient. “The absences.”

“Oh!” He let out a short laugh. “We were traveling.”

“Traveling?” you repeated, tilting your head.

“Yeah!”

“In the middle of the school year?”

“Yeah…” The answer came out quieter this time, and he looked down at the ground.

You couldn’t hold back the laugh.

When you looked back at him, Dick was smiling for real—that open, easy smile… with dimples.

You froze for a second.

Damn.

You had never noticed that before.

Your heart sped up in a completely inconvenient way, right there, in front of Dick Grayson. You quickly looked away, shaking your head slightly, as if you could push the thought away.

Focus.

“So…” you continued, trying to sound normal. “Does Wally like traveling?”

“Yeah… you could say that.” Dick replied, still with a slight smile.

“Which pop singer does he like the most?”

“The Weeknd.”

You nodded, mentally organizing the information.

Likes traveling. Listens to The Weeknd.

Okay… what else?

Your eyes lit up with the next question.

“How many siblings?”

“I have two… three now, since Damian showed up.” Dick answered, smiling to the side.

You blinked, distracted for a second. “Damian? That’s a pretty name…”

Then it clicked.

Your eyes widened and you turned your body back toward him.

“Wait. You do?” Your eyebrow shot up instantly, and you gave his shoulder a light smack. “I was asking about Wally, idiot! Not you.”

Dick laughed, leaning back a little, but ended up catching your hand in the movement.

“Okay, okay! Sorry!”

The laughter faded… and the silence returned.

But now it was different.

You noticed it first.

His fingers were still intertwined with yours.

Your heart jumped, and heat rushed straight to your face. When you dared to look at him, you saw a faint pink tint on his cheeks too.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you slowly pulled your hand back.

“Why do you want to know so much about Wally?” Dick asked, this time without a smile, his eyes fixed on yours. “Do you like him?”

Your heart practically stopped.

“What? Like him? No!” you answered way too quickly.

Quick enough to sound suspicious.

“I just…”

“Just…” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, waiting.

You swallowed.

“I’m just interested in him.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how strange that sounded.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t being interested and liking the same thing?”

“No! Of course not!” you stumbled, gesturing a little. “Liking is… liking. Being interested is just… wanting to know things.”

You stopped. Thought about what you had just said. Sighed.

That made no sense at all.

Dick clearly noticed.

“So you don’t like him?” he asked again.

“Of course not.” You smiled, trying to sound convincing.

“Good.” Dick said, smiling.

It wasn’t a big smile—it was more contained, but still sincere. The dimples showed slightly, and for a second he held your gaze.

You frowned, not understanding.

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, like it was simple. “Good.”

—

The next day, you were in charge of signing up for the debate club. You got to school early, walking quickly with your heart slightly racing, heading straight to the registration table set up in the courtyard.

The woman in charge looked up as soon as you approached, holding a notebook that was already almost full.

“Which club would you like to join?” she asked, her tone neutral but kind.

“Debate!” you answered without hesitation, feeling a small spark of excitement in your chest.

She smiled to the side, as if it were an interesting coincidence. “Lucky you… there are only two spots left.” she said, tearing off the sheet and handing it to you. “And you can’t switch after you sign up.”

You just nodded, already leaning over the table to fill in your information. The pen moved quickly across the paper, but your attention split the moment you heard two familiar voices calling your name.

You looked up almost automatically.

“Hi, Dick.” Your smile came easily, almost too naturally.

He smiled back, dimples showing. “Hi.”

You then turned your head to the other side. “Hi, Wally.”

“Hello, miss.” Wally replied, with his usual light, slightly teasing tone. You couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped out.

“We came to sign up for the club. Did you already sign up?” Dick asked, glancing at the paper in your hand.

You nodded.

And then… froze.

The realization hit suddenly, heavy, almost annoying.

They hadn’t signed up yet.

And there was only one spot left.

“There’s only one spot left, boys.” the woman informed, confirming what was already pounding in your head.

“Damn…” Wally muttered, running a hand through his red hair. He shrugged right after, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I didn’t even want it anyway. You can take it, man.”

Your eyes widened immediately.

Damn.

How were you supposed to find anything out for Artemis like that?

Your gaze automatically shifted to Dick—and he was already looking at you.

Of course he was.

He noticed.

“No, man. You take it.” Dick said, looking away for a second before turning back to Wally. “I’ll go for sports.”

Your heart gave a small jump—you couldn’t quite tell why.

Wally huffed, shaking his head. “No, you take it. I don’t want that club.” he replied, already turning away as if the decision was made, walking toward another table.

Dick let out a short sigh, almost a humorless laugh, and looked back at you.

“I tried.”

“It’s fine…” you replied, but the sigh that followed didn’t hide your frustration at all. Not even a little. “So it’s just you and me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

And then he smiled—this time for real.

“Yeah. You and me.”

And without realizing it, you smiled back.

When you and Dick finished signing up, you walked out together into the courtyard. The school was still busy—voices overlapping, students going back and forth—but for some reason, walking beside him made everything feel quieter.

Or maybe that was just in your head.

You hadn’t taken many steps before Wally showed up, like a red-haired whirlwind, catching up to you easily.

“I have an idea!” he announced, stepping between you without asking, throwing one arm around your shoulders and the other around Dick’s, pulling you both closer.

“What is it, man?” Dick asked, already smiling, used to his friend’s impulsive energy.

You turned your head to respond too—but stopped midway.

Dick was already looking at you.

And he didn’t look away.

For a moment that lasted too long, the world around you seemed to disappear. Your stomach tightened slightly, and heat rushed to your cheeks.

Wally, still between you, narrowed his eyes as he noticed the strange silence. He looked from one to the other, suspicious, and cleared his throat loudly enough to break the moment.

“We’re not going to class…” he started, breaking into an excited grin, “we’re going to the beach.”

“The beach?” you and Dick said at the same time, almost in sync.

Wally’s grin widened even more, as if that only proved how brilliant the idea was. “Yes! The beach!”

You both exchanged a quick look—and almost automatically shook your heads.

“Come on, guys!” he insisted, letting go of you just to gesture, too excited to stand still. “It’ll be fun. I promise. Just today.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the idea settle in your mind.

Beach… sun… a day away from routine.

It didn’t sound bad at all.

Your gaze shifted back to Dick, almost like you needed his confirmation—and he just shrugged, relaxed, like whatever you decided would be fine.

“Alright.” he said.

Wally practically lit up.

“Seriously?” He broke into a huge, energetic smile, then turned straight to you. “And you?”

You took a breath, but you were already smiling before you answered.

“I’m in.”

“Perfect!” Wally almost shouted, already turning and running toward the exit as if he was afraid you’d change your minds.

And without much choice—or maybe without any desire to back out—you and Dick followed.

You ran together, laughing, trying to keep up with Wally’s impossible pace.

—

When you got to the beach, everything felt lighter.

The sound of the waves, the wind against your face, the sun warming your skin—it all seemed to invite you to forget every worry. And you accepted without thinking twice.

You ran across the sand, went into the water, laughed over stupid things. Wally, as always, was pure energy—dragging you from one thing to another without giving you time to breathe. And somewhere between one laugh and the next, you realized it had been a long time since you had felt like this.

Light.

Genuinely happy.

You lost count of how many popsicles you had. You only knew you were at your limit when you dropped onto the sand beside Dick, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“I’m going to explode,” you muttered, still laughing.

A little further ahead, Wally had found a friend and was already completely distracted, talking like he hadn’t seen him in days.

The silence between you and Dick wasn’t uncomfortable… but it wasn’t simple either.

You turned your head toward him—and as if it were planned, he did the same.

Your eyes met.

And stayed there.

The tension built slowly, but intensely. Your stomach tightened, and heat rose to your cheeks without permission.

“There’s something here.” Dick said, his voice lower now, pointing to the side of your mouth.

You reacted immediately, bringing your hand to the spot. “Here?”

“No… more to the side.” he indicated, making a small gesture.

“Here?” you tried again, laughing, already a little lost.

He let out a soft laugh.

“Here.” he said, leaning in a little more.

Before you could react, his hand was already near your face, gently wiping away a bit of chocolate ice cream that had been left there.

Your breath hitched.

Completely… froze.

You couldn’t look away.

Neither could he.

His eyes were on yours—intense, focused—but slowly, they dropped to your lips.

Your heart raced.

Without even realizing it, you ran your tongue over your lips, nervous, trying to understand what was happening… or maybe trying to buy time.

When his gaze lifted back to yours, there was something different there.

Closer.

More… certain.

He leaned in.

And you felt the entire world hold its breath with you.

“Guys! My friend’s going to take a picture of us!”

Wally’s voice cut through the moment like lightning.

You both pulled away at the same time, almost jumping, like the closeness had burned.

The air felt strange.

You couldn’t look at Dick. Neither could he look at you.

Your heart was beating so fast it echoed in your ears, uneven, impossible to ignore.

And even if you didn’t know it, his was just as fast—or worse.

You cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself, and grabbed your polaroid camera, handing it to Wally’s friend with a slightly rushed smile.

You positioned yourself between them.

Before you could think too much, you felt Dick’s arm slide around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer to him.

The gesture was natural. But it made your heart race again.

You smiled, trying to act normal, even while feeling every inch of his closeness.

“Ready!” Wally’s friend said.

The click of the camera echoed in the air.

—

Back home, lying on your bed with your phone resting against your ear, you still felt the good kind of exhaustion from a full day at the beach. The sound of Artemis’s voice on the other end of the call filled the room—familiar, comforting… almost like she was there with you.

You wanted to tell her. You really did.

You wanted to tell her about the way Dick looked at you. About the almost-kiss. About how your heart still felt out of rhythm just thinking about it.

But Artemis was so excited.

So happy.

With every detail you shared about the day—especially about Wally—she reacted like it was the best news in the world.

“Really? He said that?”

“Oh my God, I love him!”

“Keep going, keep going!”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, even though she couldn’t see you.

It was impossible not to find it funny.

“Today, Wally, Dick, and I took a picture with my camera…” you said, absentmindedly playing with the bedsheet. “I asked for two copies. I’ll send you one tomorrow morning, before school.”

On the other end, Artemis let out an excited squeal.

“I’m finally going to have a picture of Wally in my room!” she said, practically vibrating.

You smiled automatically, feeling your chest warm with her happiness.

Even though… a part of you had other things it wanted to say.

Other things you chose to keep to yourself.

For now.

The silence that followed was calmer. Softer.

You sighed, letting your gaze drift to the ceiling.

“I miss you.” you said, more quietly this time.

Her answer came quickly—and carried the same feeling.

“I miss you too. A lot.”

Your heart tightened slightly.

It was strange to be living so many new things… and at the same time feel that emptiness because she wasn’t there to see it all up close.

“I have to go now… it’s getting late.” you murmured, shifting on the bed. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Artemis replied, her voice softer now.

The call ended. And the room fell silent.

You let your phone drop beside you, turning your head to stare at nothing for a few seconds.

And then, inevitably…

Your thoughts went back to him.

To the look. To the touch. To the almost.

You brought a hand to your face, hiding a silly smile that insisted on appearing.

—

The days went by almost without you noticing. One after another, light, fast… good. The routine found a new rhythm once Wally and Dick became part of it. Everything felt easier when you were together—the classes were more bearable, the breaks more fun, and even the simplest moments somehow turned into something special. Wally was like a constant whirlwind, always pulling you into some new idea, some unexpected laugh, some impulsive plan. And Dick… Dick was the balance. Calm, attentive, with that way about him that made everything feel safe. And somehow, you fit right between the two of them. They always included you. Always. It didn’t matter what it was—a silly conversation, a last-minute plan, or even a shared silence—you were there. With them. And that started to mean more than you wanted to admit.

You and Dick… well, you didn’t spend much time alone. Mostly because Wally was almost always around, showing up in the middle of any moment like he had a radar for it. But in the few times when it happened… it was strange. The silence came too easily. It wasn’t truly uncomfortable—but it wasn’t simple either. It was filled with unspoken things, quick glances that were avoided too quickly, words that never quite made it out. Embarrassment took over both of you. And in the end, you always ended up laughing at something random or changing the subject, like it was easier to pretend nothing was there. Even though you both knew it was.

And so, between laughter, glances, almost-moments… and days that felt too good to be just ordinary days… four weeks passed. A month. You and Dick were in the debate room, one of the rare moments when you were actually alone. And every time that happened, it felt like your heart completely forgot how to beat properly. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was too full. Full of avoided looks, of unspoken things… of desire. The desire to get closer. To touch. To close that distance that, in reality, wasn’t even that big.

“Do you think this topic would work?” you asked, just to break the silence that was starting to feel heavy.

“I think so,” Dick replied, still looking at the computer beside him. “You had a really good idea.”

You smiled, looking away for a second—but when you looked back… he was already looking at you. And he didn’t look away. Time seemed to slow down. The room was completely empty. Just the two of you. The distant noise of the school didn’t matter anymore. You had promised to stay late to finish the assignment. But in that moment… that was the last thing on your mind.

You felt it when he moved. His fingers touched your hair carefully, almost hesitantly, moving a strand away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The gesture was simple. But it made your entire body react. Your heart raced. Your breathing grew shorter. His gaze dropped… slowly… to your lips. And you couldn’t move. You didn’t want to. He leaned closer. Closer and closer. You could feel his breath now—warm, uneven, just as out of control as yours.

“Ah, fuck it,” he murmured, almost like he was giving up on fighting it.

You sighed into the kiss, your heart racing at his sudden closeness—and then you melted. Your lips crashed against his like you’d been starving for him, your hands gripping the fabric of his clothes. He tasted so good you thought you might pass out, and god, he kissed like he knew exactly how to ruin you. Dick let out a low groan when your tongue met his, one hand sliding to your waist, the other tangling in your hair. He broke the kiss only to leave a trail of warm, open-mouthed bites along your neck.

And then—as if the universe had terrible timing—the loud sound of the school bell echoed through the halls. Cutting everything. The moment. The kiss. The air between you.

You pulled apart almost instantly, like you’d been startled. Both of your breaths were completely uneven, heavy, hard to control. For a second, no one said anything. You just… looked at each other. Still too close. Still feeling the effect of what had just happened. Your heart was beating so fast it felt impossible that he couldn’t hear it. Your lips were still tingling, and your mind tried, unsuccessfully, to keep up with your own emotions.

Then you laughed. Low, nervous, completely awkward. A laugh that slipped out more from tension than anything else. Dick smiled immediately. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t embarrassed. It was… happy. And for a moment, everything felt lighter again. Like, despite the shock… despite the interruption… neither of you regretted it.

Dick blinked a few times, like he was slowly coming back to reality, pulling himself out of that moment that still felt suspended in the air. He ran a hand quickly through his hair, took a deep breath… and then stood up. For a second, he just stood there, looking at you—like he was organizing his thoughts. Then he held out his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice still a little lower than usual. “I’ll ask my driver to take you home.”

There was something different there. Softer. Closer. You didn’t say anything, just nodded, feeling a small flutter in your stomach as you reached for his hand. When your fingers touched, it felt like a light shock—not from surprise, but awareness. Of everything. He closed his hand around yours, firm… natural. Like he should have done it before. And this time, neither of you let go.

You left the room in silence, walking through the nearly empty school hallways. The distant sound of students leaving echoed in the background, but it felt too far away to matter. His hand was still holding yours.

—

The car stopped smoothly in front of your house, the slight jolt almost unnoticeable—but enough to remind you that the ride was over. You let out a quiet sigh, like you didn’t want that moment to end so quickly. You slowly turned your head, meeting Dick beside you. His hand was still intertwined with yours. And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else that had happened that day.

For a second, you just stayed there, looking at him… trying to memorize every detail.

“See you Monday?” you asked, with a small smile, half shy, half hopeful.

Dick smiled back immediately.

“Of course.”

He leaned slightly toward you, like it was natural now… like he didn’t need to think so much before acting anymore. And then he pressed his lips to yours. A quick peck. But it made your heart race all the same.

When he pulled away, you were already smiling—a bigger smile, impossible to hide.

“Bye, Dick.”

You let go of his hand with some reluctance, opening the door and stepping out of the car. The late afternoon air wrapped around you immediately, but it still felt like part of you had stayed inside. You closed the door and took a few steps toward your house… but you couldn’t resist. You looked back. And he was still looking at you. And smiling. Your heart skipped another beat before you finally went inside.

When you entered the house, the cozy silence wrapped around you for a moment. The living room was lit by the soft light of late afternoon, and your mom was sitting on the couch, distracted by something in her hands. You approached quietly and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Hi, Mom!” you said, a light smile forming on your face.

She looked up immediately, returning the smile with a different kind of sparkle—almost knowing.

“There’s a surprise for you in your room,” she said, holding back a small smile that seemed to know more than it should.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, curious, already feeling your heart speed up a little. Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked down the hallway, each step filled with anticipation. Your bedroom door was slightly open, like someone had gone in recently. You pushed it open slowly.

And then you stopped. There was a girl standing in the middle of your room, her back turned, blonde hair falling over her shoulders in a way you knew instantly. For a second, you didn’t even believe it.

“Artemis!” you shouted, surprise exploding in your chest as you ran toward her.

When your arms wrapped around her, everything settled. Your best friend was back in your life.

—

You and Artemis were sprawled on the bed, surrounded by empty candy wrappers, the smell of sugar still in the air and that warm feeling of reunion filling everything. It was light, comfortable… like the world had finally fallen back into place.

“Oh my God, I feel like I’m going to explode…” you muttered, placing a hand on your stomach and letting out a dramatic sigh.

Artemis laughed, throwing her head back.

“Seriously, you don’t know when to stop.”

Her laugh was exactly how you remembered it. Maybe even better. It made your chest tighten in a good way. For a few seconds, silence fell between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full. Full of everything you had gone through apart.

“You know…” Artemis started, her voice softer now. “When I was there… in the hospital… and I thought maybe I’d have to stay longer… or that something might go wrong with the surgery…” She paused for a moment, looking down at her hands. “You were one of the only people I was afraid I’d never see again.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned toward her, feeling your eyes sting almost instantly.

“Being without my best friend was hard…” your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

“It was for me too,” Artemis replied, looking at you with a small, sincere smile.

That was enough. Enough to say everything. But you blinked a few times, trying to hold back the tears before they fell. You needed to change the subject before you broke down right there.

“So…” you took a deep breath. “Wally, huh? You’re finally going to meet him for real.”

It was instant. Artemis’s eyes lit up, and she practically jumped off the bed, full of energy again.

“WAIT!”

She bent down, grabbing her bag from the floor and already unzipping it quickly.

“I have to show you this.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching curiously. Artemis pulled out a folded photo, handling it carefully—too carefully for something so simple.

“I kept the photo you sent me by my bedside in the hospital,” she said, sitting next to you again. Her voice now had a different tone, almost dreamy. “Every time I felt alone… I looked at it and remembered that my best friend… and my future boyfriend… were here waiting for me.”

Your heart warmed at the first part. But froze at the second.

She unfolded the photo. And showed you. Time… stopped. Your eyes locked onto the image, trying to understand what you were seeing. Hearts. Little hearts drawn all around it. But they weren’t around Wally. They were around Dick. Your Dick.

“What…?” you took the photo from her hand almost automatically, a nervous, confused smile forming out of reflex. “Why is Dick covered in hearts?”

Artemis frowned, tilting her head.

“No… that’s Wally,” she said, pointing directly at him—at Dick.

You let out a small awkward laugh, shaking your head.

“No, Artemis… that’s Dick Grayson. His best friend.” You turned the photo slightly, pointing to the redhead beside him. “This one is Wally.”

She went silent for a second. Two. You saw the exact moment it clicked. Artemis started laughing. Really laughing.

“Oh my God,” she put a hand to her forehead. “All this time I’ve been asking you to find out everything about the wrong guy!” She laughed even more, unable to stop. “I can’t believe this.”

The sound of her laughter echoed through the room. But for you, everything had gone quiet. Because in that moment, something inside you broke. Slowly. Painfully. Into a thousand pieces. The boy Artemis had spent all this time in love with… was the same boy you had, without realizing, fallen for too. And suddenly, the sweet taste still in your mouth… turned bitter.

—

The next day, the memory of the night before came back heavy. You opened your eyes, and within seconds, everything returned: the conversation, the photo, the hearts… and the revelation. Artemis liked Dick. Your chest tightened immediately. You turned your face into the pillow, trying to ignore it—but you couldn’t. The scene kept replaying in your head.

You remembered when you made up an excuse, saying you were tired and needed to sleep. But it wasn’t exhaustion. You were devastated. Because it wasn’t just anyone. It was Artemis. Your best friend. And you weren’t going to take that from her. You just weren’t.

You ran a hand over your face, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I’m not going to do this to her…” you murmured.

And with that came another certainty—worse than the first. Your future with Dick… didn’t exist anymore. Just thinking about it left a strange emptiness. And then you remembered the kiss. That was the worst part. The way it had happened, how real it felt… important. Now it just felt like… something that shouldn’t have happened.

Your eyes filled with tears again, but this time you didn’t even try to stop them. Because deep down, you knew—you were going to have to let it go.

—

On Monday, Artemis showed up early at your house, just like old times. Energetic, light… like nothing had changed. But for you, everything had. You didn’t want to get out of bed. Didn’t want to face that tightness in your chest, that constant feeling that something was wrong. Didn’t want to accept that you couldn’t just… like whoever you wanted. But life didn’t stop.

And now you were there, walking beside Artemis through the school hallways, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend your heart wasn’t in pieces.

“Come on.” You grabbed her hand, gently pulling her along. “I’ll introduce you to Wally… and Dick.”

Your voice faltered when you said his name. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to hide it.

“Oh my God!” Artemis let out an excited squeal, practically bouncing beside you.

You let out a soft laugh, more for her than anything else. Because in the end… she was still your best friend. And that hadn’t changed.

When you finally found the two of them in the hallway, your heart sped up immediately. For a second, you thought about turning around, about leaving. But you couldn’t. So you took a deep breath and pulled Artemis with you.

“Hi, guys!” you said, forcing a smile. “This is Artemis, my best friend.”

“Hi, guys!” she said, full of energy.

Your eyes met Dick’s almost instantly. He was already looking at you. And then he smiled… that smile that used to make everything feel easier. He started to move closer, lifting his arm like he was going to hug you.

Your body reacted before your mind. You stepped back. Quickly. You dodged him and moved to Wally’s side, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But it wasn’t. The movement left a strange silence in the air. When you glanced at him, you saw his expression change—confused… and a little hurt. Your chest tightened instantly. Another piece.

Wally noticed too, looking at you sideways, clearly not understanding anything. You just shrugged, letting out an awkward little smile.

“Hey, I know you!” Artemis suddenly said, looking directly at Dick.

He frowned slightly, confused.

“You do?”

“You helped me carry some bags once,” she said, with a dreamy little smile.

“Oh…” Dick seemed to remember, his expression softening. “Yeah… I remember.”

—

“Dick seemed kind of sad, didn’t he?” Artemis commented as soon as you entered the classroom, tossing her bag onto the desk. “What do you think happened to him?”

You swallowed hard.

“I have no idea…” you replied, with a weak smile—the kind that didn’t even convince yourself.

Artemis narrowed her eyes for a second, curious.

“I’ll find out then,” she said, determined, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your chest tightened. You just looked away.

When lunchtime came, you couldn’t stay. You said you had things to take care of for the debate club. It wasn’t a complete lie… but it wasn’t the truth either. You didn’t want to leave Artemis alone. But you couldn’t stay either.

You ended up sitting on the stairs in a quieter hallway, elbows resting on your knees, staring at nothing. The distant noise of the school filled the silence, but your mind was far away. Until a small cough behind you. You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

Wally sat down beside you, casual, like he had planned it. For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. Just stayed there. Then:

“Spit it out.”

You turned your head, pretending confusion. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking straight at you.

“I’m not stupid,” he said bluntly. “I know you and Dick like each other.” He shrugged. “What happened?”

The words hit hard. You tried to hold it in. You really did. But this time… you couldn’t. The tears came before you could stop them.

“I can’t like him, Wally…” your voice broke, almost disappearing between your sobs. You wiped your face, trying to stop the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

“I can’t… and it hurts so much.”

His expression changed immediately.

“Hey…” Wally moved a little closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in gently. “It’s okay.”

You leaned into him without resisting. And then you cried. Really cried. Like you hadn’t before. Time blurred there. It could have been minutes… it could have been hours. Between sobs, you told him everything. About Artemis. About the photo. About the mistake. About Dick. About the kiss. And about how, all of a sudden, you had to give up something that hadn’t even really begun.

Wally didn’t interrupt. Didn’t judge. He just listened.

When you finally calmed down, your face still a little swollen, your eyes burning, you got distracted by Wally. He made some dumb joke, trying to make you smile—and it worked, even if just a little. For a moment, it felt… lighter.

Until a cough cut through the moment. You both looked at the same time. Dick was standing there, right in front of you. Serious. Tense. And looking straight at you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual.

You opened your mouth, ready to refuse, to make up some excuse. But Wally was faster.

“Got it! I’m out.” He jumped up and left almost running, like he didn’t even want to exist in that situation.

You didn’t even have time to protest. And then… you were alone with him.

Dick sat down beside you on the stairs, letting out a heavy sigh. For a few seconds, silence hung between you.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

That hurt.

“What? No! Of course not…” you replied too quickly, automatically.

He turned to you. “Then what happened?”

Your heart started racing again. You didn’t want this. You really didn’t. But you had to.

“Look… that kiss…” you started, your voice quieter. You took a deep breath. “That kiss was a mistake, okay? I don’t want this.”

You said it fast, without looking at him. Like saying it all at once would hurt less.

“What? I thought that…” he started, confused. His voice faltered a little. “Look at me… please.”

You hesitated. But you looked up. And regretted it instantly. Because he was so close. And when his hand touched your cheek, gently, almost hesitant… your heart hurt even more.

“What happened?” he asked again, softer.

That almost made you give in. Almost. But you couldn’t.

“Look, Dick… I don’t like you, okay?”

The words came out harsher than you meant. And in the next second, you felt it. The impact.

“What?”

You saw it. The exact moment something inside him broke. You took a deep breath, trying to stay firm, even with everything inside you begging you to take it back.

“We don’t match, Dick.”

He shook his head immediately, desperate.

“Of course we do! I like you. A lot!” his voice rose, full of emotion. “I do everything—every time I wake up to come to school, I come hoping to see you. I hate the debate club, but I stay because I get to spend time with you…”

His voice broke at the end. Your chest hurt so much it was hard to breathe.

“Dick…”

“Don’t do this to me, sunshine… please…” he stepped a little closer.

And you stepped back. Again. Like that small space between you was the only thing holding you up. He stopped. And then his expression changed.

“It’s Wally, isn’t it?” he said, cold. “You like him.”

“What? Of course not!” you shot back immediately.

“Then tell me why!” he demanded, almost pleading now.

And that was the worst part. You couldn’t.

“I can’t, Dick…” you stood up, your legs a little weak. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. You turned and walked away. Behind you, the sound of something being kicked echoed through the hallway. A trash can, probably. You flinched slightly at the noise, but didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. And only when you were sure he couldn’t see you anymore… you let the tears fall again. Because it hurt. More than you thought it would.

—

The days kept passing, one after the other, with little difference between them.

In the beginning, everything still hurt. Every hallway encounter, every shared class, every time you heard Dick’s voice without directly looking at him.

He changed.

Not in an obvious way for everyone else, but for you… it was impossible not to notice. Dick became quieter, more closed off. He stopped making comments during class, stopped teasing Wally, stopped trying to talk to you.

And, most importantly, he stopped looking for you.

Artemis didn’t see it the same way. To her, he was just more reserved than she expected.

And that didn’t lessen her interest at all.

“He’s kind of quiet, huh?” she commented one day, walking beside you. “But I like that.”

You just agreed.

That was when you started. Small things, almost too natural to seem planned.

You would bring them both into the same conversation. You created opportunities. You gave space.

“Dick, Artemis wanted help with that…”

“Artemis, Dick knows about this…”

Nothing forced enough to raise suspicion.

But it wasn’t spontaneous either. Dick noticed.

You could see it in the way he looked at you sometimes — quick, restrained — and then looked away. Even so, he was never rude to Artemis. He always responded, always helped.

He just didn’t get close. Wally noticed everything from the beginning.

He didn’t say anything directly, but he stayed more present. He kept conversations alive when silence started to grow heavy, pulled people in, included everyone.

Without him, nothing would have flowed at all.

Little by little, without anyone saying it out loud, the four of you started hanging out together.

At first, it was strange.

Short conversations, long pauses, you trying to balance everything without making it obvious. Artemis brought up topics easily, curious, interested. Dick responded, polite, but distant.

Always distant. You watched. You watched more than you participated.

And when you needed to, you stepped in, keeping everything moving. Over time, it became more natural.

Wally was still the most relaxed one, the one who made everyone laugh. Artemis fit in quickly, bringing energy, taking up space without difficulty.

Dick… was still there. But never completely. And you… you kept everything working.

You laughed when you needed to laugh. You spoke when silence started to feel uncomfortable. You avoided looking at him too long.

And when you did look… you looked away. Weeks passed like that. T he group existed, it worked even.

But always with that subtle feeling — almost unnoticeable to anyone from the outside — that something wasn’t in the right place.

And you knew exactly what it was.

—

Time kept passing.

The weeks became filled with tests, assignments, and days that all felt the same. Before you realized it, you weren’t thinking about everything all the time anymore. It still hurt sometimes, especially when you looked at Dick for longer than you should have… but it wasn’t that constant thing anymore.

The group continued.

The four of you started hanging out almost every day. Wally always starting conversations, Artemis as energetic as ever, Dick quieter — but there — and you trying to keep everything normal.

And like that, without much fuss, the last day of school arrived.

Summer vacation.

You were in your room, lying on your bed, scrolling through your phone when it started ringing.

Wally. You answered.

“Hello?”

“Finally, vacation,” he said, not even giving you time to say anything else. “We need to do something.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Like what?”

“Amusement park. Tomorrow.”

You went silent for a second, processing it.

“Who’s going?” you asked, already suspicious.

“Me, you… and Dick,” he replied, as if it was obvious.

Your heart tightened slightly.

Before you could answer, your bedroom door opened and Artemis walked in, throwing herself onto the bed beside you.

“Who is it?” she asked, curious.

“Wally,” you answered, looking at her.

He heard from the other side.

“Is Artemis there?”

“She is.”

“Perfect. Call her too. You two are going.”

You looked back at Artemis.

She was already staring at you, waiting for an answer.

“He’s inviting us to go to an amusement park tomorrow,” you said.

You didn’t even finish the sentence properly.

“What?! Of course we’re going!” she replied immediately, excited.

You put the phone back to your ear.

“So… we’re going,” you said, kind of without a choice.

“Perfect. Tomorrow, ten o’clock,” Wally replied. “Don’t be late.”

And hung up.

You dropped your phone onto the bed.

Artemis was already talking about outfits, rides, everything at once.

You just stayed there, listening.

Until, in the middle of all that, one thought came clearly.

You were going to spend the entire day with Dick. Again.

—

The next day, you arrived at the park almost on time.

Wally was already waiting at the entrance, leaning against the gate, and raised his hand when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Two minutes,” Artemis replied, pulling you along.

You let out a small laugh, but your eyes had already gone to him.

Dick was there.

Quieter, like he had been lately. When he noticed you looking, he looked away.

Wally didn’t give anything time to feel awkward.

“Come on. No one’s staying still today.”

—

The park was crowded, loud, alive.

Artemis looked like a different person. Her eyes were shining, looking everywhere at once, already pulling you all from one place to another.

“Slow down!” you laughed. “We have the whole day.”

“I’ve been waiting months for this,” she replied, determined.

You started with the calmer rides.

Carousel, Viking ship — the light version — and then you went straight to the bumper cars.

And there… it turned into war.

Wally decided to mess with you from the very beginning.

He bumped into you, backed up, turned just to hit you again.

“Don’t you have anyone else to hit?!” you shouted, laughing.

“No,” he answered simply, coming at you again.

Artemis joined in, trying to “save” you, but it only made things worse.

And in the middle of all that, Dick joined too.

At first, more quiet.

But when he hit you for the first time, your eyes widened.

“You too?!”

He gave a small smile.

Barely there… but it was there.

And that already made your heart feel a little messy.

—

After that, you went on more calm rides.

The funhouse of mirrors turned into chaos.

Artemis getting lost, Wally laughing, you trying to find the exit… and Dick, somehow, always appearing in the right place.

“This is impossible,” you complained.

“Or maybe you’re just bad at it,” Wally replied.

“I’m going to hit you.”

“Good luck finding me.”

—

You went to eat afterward.

You ended up choosing a random table, one of those slightly crowded ones, with trays full of fries, soda, and cotton candy shared between the four of you.

Artemis started talking the second she sat down.

She was describing everything — what she thought of each ride, what she still wanted to go on, what you all needed to repeat before leaving. Her hands moved along with her words, her eyes shining.

Wally joined in right away, answering everything, teasing, exaggerating stories just to make her laugh more.

And slowly… Dick joined too.

At first, with short comments. But it didn’t take long.

He started responding to Wally, teasing him back, correcting Artemis’ stories, laughing — really laughing — when Wally said something stupid.

“You almost cried on the boat,” Dick said, looking at you.

“I did NOT,” you answered immediately.

“Almost.”

“Lies.”

“I saw it.”

Wally started laughing.

“She screamed louder than everyone else.”

“Shut up!”

Artemis jumped into the argument, taking sides depending on whoever was funnier at the moment, and within seconds the whole table was laughing.

Dick leaned back slightly in his chair, still smiling, shaking his head like everything was kind of ridiculous.

But he was there. Really there. Lighter. More relaxed.

As if, for a few hours, he had set the weight aside.

And you noticed.

You noticed the way he spoke more, the way he laughed, the way he sometimes looked at you in the middle of conversation without looking away immediately.

It affected you.

But you just grabbed another fry, looked away, and joined the conversation again.

Trying not to think too much.

—

The day went on like that. Light. Fun.

Between laughs, playful pushing, silly teasing, and running from one ride to another, for a few hours… everything felt normal again.

Until you passed by the roller coaster.

It stood out in the entire park. Tall, loud, its tracks cutting through the sky and the screams falling along with the speeding carts.

Artemis stopped immediately. She stared at it.

“I wanted to go…” she said quietly, with a small smile that didn’t hide her frustration.

You looked at her.

“You know you can’t.”

She took a deep breath, still looking at the ride… and nodded.

“I know.”

Wally stayed silent for a moment, analyzing the situation. Then he smiled.

“We can fix that easily.”

You didn’t even have time to react.

He grabbed your arm… and Dick’s.

“You two are going.”

“What? No…” you started, already trying to pull away.

“You are,” he cut in simply. “I’ll stay with Artemis.”

“Wally…”

“Trust me,” he said, gently pushing you toward the line.

And he didn’t leave room for discussion.

When you realized it… you were already walking.

Already in line. With Dick.

Alone with him. Again.

The line moved slowly, dragging.

The sound of the roller coaster filled everything — the metal on the tracks, the screams coming from above, the wind cutting too fast to follow with your eyes.

You stood side by side.

Close. But not looking at each other.

Every now and then, a short comment slipped out. Something about the passing cart, about the height, anything to break the silence.

When it was finally your turn, everything felt too fast.

You sat down. Side by side.

The restraint came down with a sharp click. The operator checked it, tapped the structure lightly, and gave the signal.

Your heart was already racing, pounding hard against your chest. And you knew it wasn’t just because of the ride.

The cart started to climb. Slowly. You held the bar tightly, eyes fixed forward, as if looking sideways would make everything worse.

But you felt it.

You felt when he turned his head toward you.

“Hey.”

His voice came low, too close. You turned, even though you didn’t mean to.

“I lied,” Dick said.

You frowned, confused.

“What?”

“I pretended I was fine… after that day,” he continued, voice lower now, more serious. “But I’m not.”

Your chest tightened immediately. The climb continued. Too slowly.

As if it was giving just enough time for everything to get worse.

“Dick…” you tried, almost a whisper.

“No,” he cut in, shaking his head. “Let me talk.”

You stayed quiet.

“I tried to stay away,” he said. “Tried to ignore it, pretend I didn’t feel anything… but I do.”

His voice didn’t break. It was steady.

“I like you.”

Your heart jumped. Hard. Too fast.

“And it’s not a little.”

The cart was near the top now.

The wind hit harder, messing up your hair, cooling your skin.

Everything felt more intense up there.

“I don’t know why you pulled away,” he continued. “But I know that wasn’t a mistake. Not for me.”

You couldn’t answer. The words simply wouldn’t come.

“And I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel it… just because you asked.”

The cart reached the top. Stopped. For a second.

A strange silence, too loud, as if the world was holding its breath with you.

The cart reached the top. Stopped. For a second.

A strange silence, too loud, as if the world was holding its breath with you.

And then… It dropped.

The fall came all at once, pulling everything with it. Air disappeared, your stomach flipped, the world turned into motion.

Speed. Wind. Screams.

And in the middle of it all—

He turned his head slightly toward you, grabbed your hand, and shouted:

“I LIKE YOU!”

The sound almost got lost in the noise. Almost.

But not enough. Your heart skipped a beat. But the cart didn’t.

It kept going down, turning, accelerating, throwing you side to side.

And all you could feel was it. The wind hitting your face.

Your body being pulled in every direction. And your chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the ride.

Because those words… didn’t stay up there. They came down with you. And stayed.

—

When the cart finally stopped, you were still feeling everything spinning.

Your heart was still racing, your breathing slightly uneven, your hands still gripping the bar as if the ride hadn’t ended.

But it wasn’t because of the roller coaster.

The restraint clicked open with a sharp sound.

People started standing up, laughing, talking, already returning to normal.

You slowly released the bar and stood up right away.

Without looking to the side. Without looking at him. You knew he was there.

And you knew that if you looked… you wouldn’t be able to pretend nothing had happened. So you just left.

You got off the cart and walked toward the exit with quick steps, passing by people without really paying attention.

You wanted to get out of there. You wanted distance. Before he said anything.

Or before you responded.

“Hey…”

His voice came from behind you, close.

You heard it.

Of course you did.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around.

You just kept walking, as if you hadn’t heard it. As if that was easier.

—

It wasn’t hard for you to fall in love with Richard Grayson. How could it be? His gentle, playful, and affectionate nature wouldn’t let you stay just friends for long.

The first time you kissed was intense — as if a thousand explosions had gone off inside you all at once. For a second, you thought you might die.

—

“I think you added too much flour,” you said, watching the brownie batter get way too thick.

Dick looked at the bowl, clearly confused, like he was trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

Then he looked at you like he’d just had the best idea in the world. His eyebrows lifted, a crooked smile spreading across his face — clearly up to something.

“You know where else I added too much flour?” he said, holding back a laugh.

You tilted your head, confused. “Where?”

“On your face.”

And it was fast — too fast. In the blink of an eye, his hand was already full of flour, and the next second, it was all over your face.

“You asshole!” you blurted, indignant, mouth falling open as you tried to wipe your eyes, spitting out some of the flour that almost got into your mouth.

He was already laughing, not even trying to defend himself.

But you weren’t about to let that slide.

Before he had time to think, you grabbed the bag of flour off the counter, squeezing it hard.

“You’re a dead man, Richard Grayson.”

After a good while of throwing flour at each other, the kitchen was a mess — and so were you. That’s when he finally gave in.

“Okay! Okay! Drop the flour! White flag. Truce.”

You didn’t lower your guard. You just stared at him, suspicious, while he flashed that same goofy smile.

“Put the flour down first.” Your stubbornness won.

Dick raised one hand in surrender and, with the other, slowly lowered the bag of flour to the floor.

You still narrowed your eyes before moving. Only then did you pick up both bags and set them back on the counter.

“I think your face is kind of dirty,” you said, bringing your hand to your mouth to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah? Where?”

“Here.” You reached out and brushed along his jaw, wiping away the flour.

He didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer. Too close.

“Your face is dirty too,” he said, more quietly, looking straight into your eyes.

“Where?” you asked, letting out a soft breath, your voice already losing its steadiness.

“Here.”

His hand came up slowly to your face. His finger brushed over your lip, carefully wiping away the rest of the flour.

He didn’t pull his hand back — he just left it there, watching you, breath unsteady, waiting for a reaction.

You didn’t think. There wasn’t time.

You just grabbed him and kissed him — hard, full of want, like everything you hadn’t said until now was going into that moment. Like he was the last man on Earth.

And to you… he is.

—

Since then, Richard Grayson simply hasn’t left you alone. He showed up all the time, came up with any excuse to be near you, always wearing that smug smile — like he already knew exactly where this was going.

And he didn’t stop.

Not at all.

He kept insisting, teasing, getting closer… until, at some point, you just gave in. Before you knew it, that was it: you had become his girl.

It had already been a month since you started dating.

The two of you had agreed to tell the League only when things were more “stable.” Not because you were afraid of making it official and breaking up the next day — that wasn’t it.

It was more selfish than that.

You wanted to enjoy the beginning, just the two of you. No comments, no looks, no one getting involved. A kind of honeymoon… even if improvised. At least three months like that felt fair.

And it would have worked. It really would have.

If Richard Grayson weren’t such a terrible liar.

And, most of all, if he weren’t completely in love with you.

—

It all started with Artemis.

You, Dick, and her were out together when the idea came up to stop by a bakery to get something for Wally. Not because you really wanted to — but because he simply wouldn’t stop complaining.

“I am devastated! I will never be happy again. A part of me has been taken away, guys, you have to understand!”

The reason?

His favorite character from the show he was watching had died.

At first, you ignored him. Then you told him to stop being dramatic. But Wally kept going — voice messages, texts, calls, all in the same miserable tone.

In the end, you gave in out of sheer exhaustion.

“How about sweet bread?” you suggested, looking at the options in the display case.

“Nah, he doesn’t like it,” Artemis replied immediately, not even taking her eyes off the sweets.

“Apple pie?” Dick tried, pointing to a neatly cut slice.

“No.” Artemis kept shutting everything down, focused, analyzing each option like it was a serious decision.

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, her eyes moving from one dessert to another… until they stopped.

A chocolate-covered cookie.

She didn’t hesitate.

“He’s gonna love this one.”

You and Dick looked at each other at the same time and laughed.

When you went to pay, the cashier handed you the bag with the sweets — but not just that. Along with it, he slipped you a folded piece of paper.

“My number’s on there. Call me sometime, gorgeous.” He even winked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You froze for a second, your face turning red instantly. Not out of interest — but because your boyfriend was literally standing right next to you.

Before you could say anything, Dick reacted.

“Don’t fucking start, man. My girl is just fine without your damn number.”

His hand went straight to your waist, firm, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him.

The mood shifted immediately.

The cashier lost his smile, clearly embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away.

“Sorry, man… didn’t know she was your girl.”

When the three of you left the bakery, the silence felt… off.

You didn’t even need to look — Artemis was holding it in. You could tell by the way she was biting the corner of her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

It didn’t last long.

“So…” she started, turning to look at both of you, raising an eyebrow. “Remember that time you said you and Dick were just friends? That there was nothing romantic going on there?”

“I remember…” you replied, already knowing where this was going.

“Right. Just wanted to confirm.” Her smile came instantly, full of teasing.

You let out a short sigh.

“No one knows, Artemis. You have to promise not to tell anyone,” Dick cut in, serious for the first time.

She opened her mouth, ready to respond.

“Not even Wally,” you interrupted. “Seriously, Mys. We want to tell everyone, but it’s still too soon.”

Dick made a sound of agreement, nodding.

“At least now I can kiss my girlfriend in front of someone, damn it.”

Before you could react, his arm was already around your neck, pulling you in as he pressed a loud kiss to your cheek.

“Disgusting.” Artemis rolled her eyes immediately.

—

And then, two days later, it was Megan’s turn.

Her room at the Young Justice base was calm, with that light, cozy atmosphere of someone just trying to forget about the world for a while. The two of you were sitting on the floor, surrounded by open nail polish bottles, the sweet scent lingering in the air as you painted your nails.

Artemis had promised she’d show up later — which, coming from her, could mean anything between five minutes and two hours.

Megan called your name, and you answered with a distracted little hum, completely focused on not smudging the polish on your right hand. Because, honestly, doing that with your non-dominant hand was a true test of patience.

“Oh, Dick is calling you…” Megan commented, her voice laced with curiosity as she picked up your phone.

You didn’t even look, too focused on your nail.

“Answer it for me and put it on speaker, Megs. Please.”

And then, without warning — as always — his voice came through.

“Hey, princess. I’m at the store and I remembered those candies you like. But there’s a new mint chocolate flavor… do you want me to bring some for you to try?”

The world just… stopped.

Your heart skipped, your hand froze midair, and only then did it hit you all at once: Megan. Speakerphone. Dick being… Dick.

Slowly, almost afraid of what you’d see, you lifted your gaze.

Megan was staring at you.

Mouth open.

In complete shock.

“Babe? You there?” his voice came again, soft, carefree — completely unaware of the chaos he had just caused.

You went into emergency mode.

“I do, baby! I’ll talk to you when I get there, kisses!” you said way too fast, hanging up before he could even respond.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

“WHAT? YOU AND DICK ARE—”

You were faster, covering her mouth instantly.

“Ugh, damn it, my nail!” you muttered, looking at the mess you’d just made of your freshly painted polish.

Megan raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with your priorities at that moment.

You sighed, defeated.

“Yeah… Dick and I are dating.”

And then her reaction came.

Her eyes lit up, and the next second she was already jumping on the bed, completely freaking out.

“Hello, Megan! It was obvious! How did I not notice?” she exclaimed, smacking her own forehead.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter.

“Don’t tell anyone yet, Megs. Only you and Artemis know.”

She froze mid-jump.

“Wait. Artemis knew before me?” The hurt look showed up almost instantly.

You laughed, pulling her into a hug.

“It was totally accidental, I swear! You’re still my best friend, you goof… I just didn’t tell you because Dick and I haven’t told anyone.”

—

Two weeks passed, and you really started to think no one was going to find out. No weird comments, no suspicion. It felt like, for the first time, you and Dick were actually managing to keep your relationship a secret.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

That night, you were in his room at Wayne Manor, lying on the bed watching a movie. Or at least trying to, because neither of you was really paying attention. The bag of snacks kept going back and forth between you as you talked about random things.

“Okay, babe,” you started, turning your face slightly toward him. “Let’s say a spider bites you and you turn into a—”

“Spider-Man?” Dick interrupted, raising an eyebrow as he took the bag from your hand to grab another bite.

“Yes, a Spider-Man,” you continued, rolling your eyes slightly. “And then after the bite, you started shooting webs from your wrists…”

He laughed.

“I think that’s kind of impossible, princess.”

You turned more toward him, looking straight at him.

“Come on. Your girlfriend is literally an alien who flies and has super strength,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And you still think a spider can’t turn someone into a human version of itself too?”

He went quiet for a second, thinking.

“Okay,” he said finally, shrugging. “You’ve got a point.”

You took the bag of snacks back, this time not letting him steal it so easily.

“Back to the point…” you started, turning toward him.

But you stopped mid-sentence.

Dick wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying. He was just looking at you — with that soft, lovestruck smile, completely enchanted, like you were the most interesting thing in the world.

You held his gaze for a second… and then let out a soft sigh.

“You know what? Screw the point.”

Before he could respond, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him on top of you and kissing him.

He smiled into the kiss, like he’d already expected it, and slid his hand to your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer. You instinctively arched your body against his, closing any space between you.

“Yeah… screw the point,” he murmured, slightly breathless, before kissing you again.

The kisses trailed lower, slower, to your neck. He lingered there, pressing a few longer kisses, while his hand slid down to your hip.

And then…

The door swung open.

“Hey, man. You know that case I told you about—” Tim’s voice came into the room along with him, still looking down at his phone.

You and Dick pulled away immediately, practically jumping to opposite sides of the bed like nothing had happened.

Tim finally looked up.

Stopped.

And raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously… you two need to learn how to lock the door,” he said, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. “No one signed up to watch you making out.”

Dick didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

Tim dodged it easily.

“Missed, idiot!”

“You’re the one who walked into my room, dumbass,” Dick shot back, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“Man, sorry to interrupt your almost-sex, but—”

“Wait!” you cut in, looking straight at him, still a little in disbelief. “You already knew about us?”

Tim let out a short laugh.

“Oh, come on. You guys aren’t subtle at all,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dick practically follows you around like a puppy.”

He started counting on his fingers.

“You go somewhere, he goes after you. You sit, he sits. You stand, he stands… If you told him to jump off a bridge, he’d do it with sparkling eyes.”

You tried to hold back your reaction, but failed.

“He’s got a point,” Dick commented, looking at you and laughing.

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back, grabbing the pillow beside you and throwing it at him, unable to stop laughing.

—

And then you finally decided to tell everyone.

Conner’s birthday ended up being the moment.

Everyone was gathered in the Tower, spread out across the couches around the table, talking, laughing, and eating. The atmosphere was light, relaxed — perfect for news like that.

You exchanged a quick glance with Dick.

This was it.

The two of you stood up almost at the same time, naturally drawing attention. Conversations started to die down one by one until everyone was looking at you.

You cleared your throat softly.

“So, guys… Dick and I have something to tell you.”

The room went silent instantly.

“We’re dating!” Dick blurted out, excited, already wrapping an arm around your waist like he couldn’t wait to say it out loud.

A second of pause.

And then…

“Oh, nice, man! Congrats,” Conner was the first to react, completely chill.

“Happy for you, dude. I always knew you two would end up together,” Wally said right after, smiling like he’d been expecting it for a long time.

“Man, you stole my ultimate crush… but I’m happy for you guys,” Gar added, tossing a piece of popcorn in your direction, laughing.

You and Dick looked at each other. Same expression. Same raised eyebrow.

You both sighed almost at the same time.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” you said finally.

“Obviously!” Gar replied immediately. “You guys are not subtle at all. I’ve literally caught you two making out on patrol. Like, seriously… have some shame.”

Another piece of popcorn flew your way.

“Not to mention Artemis told me,” Wally added, rubbing the back of his neck, a little sheepish.

“Wallace!” Artemis scolded immediately.

“Artemis!” you shot back, looking at her.

She shrugged, not even trying that hard to defend herself.

“I wasn’t going to keep a secret like that from my boyfriend,” she said, snuggling into his chest. “And honestly, he freaked out. He almost called Dick saying he felt betrayed.”

Wally let out an awkward little laugh.

“Wally told me,” Conner said simply, shrugging.

“Wally told me too,” Zatanna added, laughing.

Dick let out a sigh, shaking his head. “You and that big mouth, Wallace…”

“Sorry, man! I can’t keep a secret,” Wally replied, already turning a little red.

You could only laugh at the situation.

“At least now…” Dick started, looking at you with a smile. “…I can kiss my girlfriend anywhere.”

Before anyone could complain, he pulled you in and kissed you right there.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Artemis complained immediately, rolling her eyes.

“Oooh!” Gar teased, throwing a small pillow at you both.

You pulled apart, laughing.

“Please don’t be gross,” Conner commented, also rolling his eyes — though a faint smile tugged at his lips.

And in the end, the big secret…

“Are you going to put that phone down?”

I narrowed my eyes at my boyfriend beside me on the couch. Dick was completely absorbed in the screen, his face lit by the glow of his phone, as if nothing else around him existed.

“Angel, you’re on your phone too,” he replied, not even bothering to look at me.

That made me let out an irritated sigh. “No, I’m not.”

I turned my phone off and set it beside me, on the empty space on the couch, as if the gesture were some kind of solemn declaration.

Only then did Dick look at me. He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole scene.

I picked up my phone again and held it up between us, showing the dark screen. “I’m not anymore.”

The corner of his mouth curved into a lazy smile.

“Well… I was only on my phone because you were. Since you’re not anymore, I don’t see a reason to stay on it either.”

“Liar.” I narrowed my eyes, pretending to be offended.

Before I could react, Dick grabbed me by the waist and pulled me onto his lap. A little yelp of surprise escaped me, and my hands automatically landed on his chest to steady myself, feeling the firmness of his pec under his shirt.

“Liar, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and playful. Gently, he brushed a rebellious strand of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear.

An involuntary smile spread across my lips. My hands slid up to the back of his neck, my fingers lacing together there, as if that was exactly where they belonged.

“I just wanted some attention, babe…” I pouted slightly, not even trying to hide it.

Dick let out a soft laugh, the kind that always made my body relax, and tightened his hand around my waist just a little.

“And now you have all of my attention, my pretty.”

Finding Alaric, who is now the Red Hood — whose name in this life I have no clue about — might be harder than I imagined. He really didn’t want to be found.

But I knew that if I managed to cross the barrier he had built around his life, he would have no escape. We never do. We always end up finding each other. We always end up falling in love. It’s impossible to ignore the feeling that we have belonged to each other for centuries. Because, in a way, we do.

Our souls were intertwined in a way that no distance could undo.

Perhaps, then, I just needed to wait. Let destiny take its course. Destiny is merciless, and it doesn’t like to be rushed.

Today I took the day off from the hospital. I needed to think. I needed to breathe away from shifts, white rooms, and the relentless rhythm of life that insists on going on. Since I met the Red Hood and discovered that he would be the person I was destined to love in this life, my mind hasn’t stopped. He occupies every thought, every silence, every pause between heartbeats.

That’s why I hate remembering my past lives. Every memory is a shadow that insists on stretching over the present. I wanted to live this love simply, without the pressure of destiny pushing us together as if we were predestined. I wanted to be able to love him without carrying the weight of all the versions of him I have already been in love with. As similar as they may have been, as comforting as some memories whisper, others burn like hot iron.

Some of those versions were dark, harsh, and dangerous. Others were sweet and quiet, yet all carried the same strength — all were warriors. And I… I wonder if I will ever be able to just love him, without the echo of all the others resonating between us.

I decided to go to Gotham’s aquarium. When you live so many lives and remember them, some habits are never lost. One of mine, perhaps the oldest, is to seek solace in the beauty of water. Marine animals carry silent, fascinating stories, and watching them has always brought me an inexplicable peace.

I stand in front of the tank, letting my eyes lose themselves in the dance of the fish, in the turtles gliding calmly, and in the seahorses moving as if they were delicate shadows. It’s all so perfect, so fragile, that it almost seems unreal.

My gaze fixes on a jellyfish, translucent and luminous, floating slowly. And I smile, unable to help myself. It reminds me of Julien, the soul I loved in 1500.

A quiet sigh escapes me, and for a moment, time seems to bend. Every memory, every past life, comes back in gentle waves, as if the water itself is telling me secrets only I can hear.

—

1500

“You know, princess… you’re very easy to find.”

I glance back, and there’s Julien, his arms resting on the railing, watching me with that smile that has always shattered my heart. But today, my smile is just a fragment of sadness, fragile as crystal.

“The water holds memories, you know?” I murmur, my eyes fixed on the calm surface of the lake before us. It reflects the sky and clouds, the slow movement of the wind, time that insists on passing, indifferent to our pain. I sit on the grass, letting the breeze touch my face, absorbing every detail of nature — the scent of the earth, the distant song of birds, the delicate reflections on the water. Everything seems perfect… and at the same time, impossible.

Julien approaches, each step measured, and sits beside me. A heavy silence settles between us, full of unspoken words and promises time has not yet dared to fulfill. I sigh, letting a tear slip down involuntarily.

“I am promised to marry another man, Julien.”

He doesn’t react immediately. His eyes meet mine, and I see every fragment of pain reflected there. The white streak in his hair, the corners of his mouth that once smiled lightly, now curved in an expression of restrained sorrow. Every detail makes him even more human, even more mine.

“I know.”

His voice is firm but carries a melancholy that makes me tremble inside. He lowers his head, looking at the water, at the landscape that seems eternal and indifferent to our anguish. “My grandmother used to tell me about jellyfish… They follow the currents of life, even in the darkest times. They survive. They mean renewal.”

He lifts his eyes to me, and there is fire and tenderness in his gaze. “Be strong, princess. It hurts me too. Seeing the woman I love promised to another… I don’t know if I could bear it. But you must be resilient. Be like the jellyfish: delicate, yet impossible to destroy. Fulfill your cycle, even if your heart breaks.”

His hand moves closer, gentle, and wipes my tears with the delicacy of someone touching their own soul. “Even if you are forced to marry another, you will still be mine. Our souls are intertwined, impossible to separate. Forever. Destiny may delay us, but it will never deny us. We are timeless, princess. Always will be.”

He smiles, and I feel the weight of centuries, entire lives and memories flowing through us like invisible currents. I feel love and pain intertwined, a fire that both burns and warms at the same time. And in that moment, I know that even separated by destiny, even torn apart by time, nothing — absolutely nothing — could ever take us from each other.

—

2005

It happened so long ago that now it feels like nothing more than a dream — a dream I know I lived, but one that drifts so far from reality it almost feels irrelevant. Even so, it’s a memory I carry with me, one I refuse to forget.

The jellyfish drifts slowly in front of me, and I can’t help but smile.

I’m grateful to Julien for teaching me how to be resilient. He wasn’t wrong when he said our souls were intertwined, that we were timeless, that destiny would bring us together again.

He wasn’t wrong.

Destiny truly did reunite us. Maybe not in that specific life, but in the thousands that followed. It feels as though we were made to find each other, over and over again, and to live the love we were always meant to feel.

And I’m at peace with that. Because loving his soul — even across time, even across lives — is one of the purest gifts destiny has ever given me.

I’m pulled out of my reverie by a loud crash behind me.

“Are you serious? The aquarium is being destroyed and you’re just standing there? Doctor, you’re weird.”

The robotic voice of the Red Hood cuts through the air, and I turn instantly, my heart racing.

Destiny truly is merciless.

I look around. The aquarium is in chaos. Gunshots echo, ricochet, make the glass tremble. The water churns, frightened fish swim in frantic circles, and I catch the metallic scent of adrenaline in the air. It’s not where I am, but danger is palpable, pulsing through every inch of the place.

“I was lost in my thoughts… what’s going on?” I take a step toward him, trying to stay calm, though my hands tremble.

“Better if you don’t know. Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”

Before I can protest, he grabs my hand firmly and pulls me along with a strength that allows no resistance. He leads me through a hidden route — a secret passage in an aquarium? Impossible… but there’s no time for questions.

My mind struggles to process the absurdity when I feel his firm hand on my waist. A gunshot tears through the air, and he slams me against the wall with a speed that steals the breath from my lungs. The impact makes me shudder, but there’s something comforting in his presence, as if nothing could touch us while he’s there.

He draws his gun — a quick, precise, calculated movement. The shot rings out and hits the target chasing us. For a moment, everything goes silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.

Then his hand returns to mine, firm and steady, signaling for me to follow him. My heart is still pounding, but there’s trust in that gesture — a silent promise of protection in the middle of chaos. With the Red Hood by my side, danger feels almost… bearable.

—

Rain lashes against my face and arms as I hold tightly to his waist, seated behind the Red Hood on the motorcycle. Every turn of the street presses my body against his, and the warmth of him against me is the only thing that gives me any sense of safety. The chaos of the aquarium, the gunfire — it all feels distant now, reduced to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He rides with absolute precision, hands firm on the handlebars, the helmet hiding his entire face, but his posture, the touch of his hand on my waist, every small gesture conveys protection. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s there, alert to every danger, ready to shield me.

When we stop in front of my building, he slows down, shuts off the engine, and stays there for a moment, completely still, as if assessing every possible risk before letting me get off. His hands still hold mine firmly, grounding me.

“Are you okay?” His voice comes out slightly robotic, muffled by the helmet, but clear enough to cut through the hum of the rain.

“I am… thank you. For bringing me here. For protecting me,” I murmur, feeling his hand squeeze mine gently.

He leans just enough for me to feel his closeness, and his hand shields my hair slightly from the rain.

“You didn’t have to thank me,” he says, his voice firm, almost dark. “Consider it… payment.”

“Payment?” I ask, confused.

“For what you did for me,” he says, the helmet hiding his face, but his voice heavy with intensity. “When I was unconscious. You took care of me. I wouldn’t let that go unanswered.”

My chest tightens. The memories of that night come rushing back, vivid, as if they were happening all over again.

“I just… I couldn’t let you die,” I whisper.

He grips my hand firmly, a touch that conveys more than words ever could: care, presence, protection.

“I know,” he replies. “And that’s why you’re safe now.”

He holds my hand a moment longer, making sure I truly get inside safely.

“Thank you… for everything,” I say, still feeling the warmth of him so close.

Rain runs through my hair and clothes, but I remain standing in front of him, arms crossed against the cold, sensing his presence even without seeing his face. He stays seated on the bike, helmet on, steady, the engine purring softly and blending with the sound of rain falling from the sky. The silence between us is heavy, filled with questions waiting to be asked.

“Tell me something…” His voice cuts through the rain, firm, laced with curiosity. “Why have you been looking for me? Who are you? Why are you so interested in me?”

I swallow hard. My heart races. “I… I want to be part of your life,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling, trying to sound resolute despite the rain and the tension.

He leans forward slightly, hands firm on the handlebars. “Why?”

“Because… because I want to,” I reply, simple and direct. “I don’t know how to explain it better. I just want to be close to you. I want to be part of who you are, of what you do, of your life.”

He falls silent, the rumble of the engine filling the seconds between us, and then lets out a short, dry laugh. “You’re… crazy,” he says, half incredulous, half amused.

“Then let me be,” I shoot back, taking a step closer to the bike, rain streaming down my face. “Just let me try. Just let me into your life.”

He takes a deep breath, still steady on the bike. “I… don’t want to care about anyone right now. I have unfinished business. I can’t tie myself to anything or anyone.”

I grip the back of the motorcycle tightly, my heart pounding. “At least… give me a contact. Just one,” I say, my voice trembling but determined.

There’s silence for a few seconds, only the engine and the rain filling the space between us. Then he reaches back over the seat and hands me a small piece of paper, damp around the edges, but still legible.

“A contact… doesn’t mean you’ll see me all the time,” he says, then adds, hesitant, almost as if speaking to himself, “I… don’t know why I’m giving you this. I’m not… sentimental. I don’t really know you, and even so… I feel something tied to you. Something I can’t explain.”

My chest tightens. His words, heavy with sincerity and vulnerability, cut straight through the barrier of the helmet and land directly in my heart. I take the paper carefully, my hands trembling. “Thank you,” I murmur.

I look at him for a moment before turning and walking toward the door of my building. Before going inside, I glance over my shoulder and see him there, seated on the bike, rain streaming over his helmet, watching me. I get the sense that he wants to make sure I’m safe, even without understanding why he feels so connected to me.

When I left his field of vision, I could still feel his presence outside in the rain, and I knew that somehow he already knew he couldn't escape me — even if he didn't yet know why.

—

He was serious when he said that giving me his contact didn’t mean I would see him all the time. And I didn’t force anything either; I didn’t try to speed up what destiny had already decided.

Six months passed. Six months without seeing him, without hearing a single word, and yet, in the silence, I still feel his presence. It’s strange, but comforting in a subtle way: as if he were still there, even from afar.

When souls are intertwined, the absence of someone important isn’t just longing — it’s a part of yourself that waits, learning to move slowly, in the rhythm of the other.

I know he needs space; I know it’s not easy to deal with him right now. So I let destiny act. I watch time pass, I go about my own routines, and yet, every little detail brings me back to him. No rush, no demand, just waiting for the moment when our love returns once again.

Many believe that soulmates are born loving each other, that everything happens instantly and perfectly. It may seem that way, but it’s not quite like that. A soulmate is not synonymous with perfection, nor with immediate love. It is a silent connection that reveals itself slowly, in gestures, in choices, in the constant presence of the other.

Soulmates are destinies that somehow cross paths. They don’t need dramatic signs to recognize each other — sometimes a look, a gesture, or simply the way the other exists in the world is enough. It’s as if time itself had prepared that meeting, and when it happens, everything fits naturally. It doesn’t mean love arises fully formed, but that an invisible bridge already exists between two lives, something beyond understanding.

In writing, a soulmate is more than a romantic character. They are the link that connects stories, that creates tension and draws characters closer even when they are apart. They are the presence that gives depth to choices, that transforms simple encounters into meaningful moments. It’s not just desire or passion: it’s affinity, understanding, and a sense of belonging that builds over time.

When two soulmates meet, there is a silent recognition. We know, without words, that a story is waiting to be written. But this story is not automatic; it demands patience, care, and respect for each one’s pace. Each chapter is built slowly, with small decisions and moments that strengthen the bond.

This is how we found each other.

Even when I was promised to another man, Julien was still mine. Even when I died in childbirth, carrying our child, Edward was still mine. Even when my love with Lorenzo was interrupted by old age, we still loved each other.

In every life, he comes back only to be mine.

And I come back only to be his.

It was the same with my Alaric. And it will be the same with the Red Hood.

Our love knows no bounds of time. It has spanned decades, centuries, entire generations. It survived wars that destroyed empires, diseases that wiped out entire families, moments when everything seemed lost. Even when life tried to tear us apart, even when death seemed final, it endured. We always come back. We always find each other.

Because destiny willed it so.

Because there is something greater than us that traced this path and kept us entwined, even when it seemed impossible.

And the Red Hood cannot — and never will be able to — fight against it. No matter how many times he tries to pull away, no matter how many times fear or doubt tries to put up barriers, destiny will always pull us back.

Every life, every era, every lost or stolen moment only reinforces that we belong to each other. Not by choice, but by inevitability. And there is a cruel beauty in that: to love someone who is yours by right of all lives, yet knowing the world will always try to keep you apart.

—

Today was a complicated day at work. I came home exhausted, my body heavy and my mind still trapped in what I had seen. Today I took care of a woman who had been beaten by her own husband. An elderly woman whose son tried to kill her.

Sometimes I wonder why humanity is so cruel. And the truth is, this didn’t start now. The world has always been cruel. In every life I have lived, people have continued to be cruel. The world evolves, cities grow, technology advances — but it feels like the more everything progresses, the more anger accumulates inside people.

It’s sad to think about that. Exhausting. Disheartening.

I hear a knock on the window and frown. The sound is sharp, out of place, almost unreal. I walk over and carefully pull the curtain aside.

Red Hood.

After six months, he decides to show up at my window.

I open it without saying a word. Cold air rushes in with him, and for a second we just stare at each other, as if six months could be reduced to that silence.

He steps inside with a quick, almost automatic movement, as if he already knows the way. He closes the window behind him carefully, but that’s when I notice it. The stiff way he moves. His hand pressed against his side. The dark red staining the fabric.

“You’re hurt,” I say, more a statement than a question.

He tries to downplay it, as always. A shrug that convinces no one.

I don’t wait for an answer. I’m already moving through the apartment, turning on the lights, grabbing what I need. I don’t ask for permission. I never have.

I make him sit on the couch. When I get closer, the smell of blood is unmistakable. My hands tremble just a little as I pull the torn fabric aside and see the wound. It’s not superficial. My chest tightens, but my mind switches to autopilot — the same one that saves me every day at the hospital.

I clean the wound carefully. He tenses, holds his breath, but doesn’t complain. He never does.

“Six months,” I murmur, without taking my eyes off what I’m doing. “Six months without a word. And you show up at my window like this.”

He stays silent for a moment. Then he speaks, his voice low and controlled.

“I told you my contact didn’t mean you’d see me all the time,” he says. “I’ve been busy.”

I lift my gaze to him for just a second. I don’t reply. I go back to tending the wound with the same careful attention as before.

He remains silent after that. The air between us stretches, heavy with memories only I carry in full.

Then, with a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, he lifts his hands to the Red Hood helmet. The sound of the clasps releasing echoes softly through the room.

The helmet comes off. And, like in every other life, there he is.

The same face. The same lines time refuses to touch. The same presence that has crossed centuries with me.

And the white streak.

It cuts through the dark of his hair exactly as it always has. Unchanging. Untouched by time. He was born like that in every life in which I knew him — a detail that never changed, no matter the name he carried, the century we lived in, or the way we found each other.

My chest tightens with the cruel familiarity of it.

My eyes trace every detail I didn’t get the chance to see the last time we met, memorizing something I never needed to relearn. I’ve seen him like this in palaces and on battlefields, on streets lit by torches and in modern cities glowing with neon. Always the same. Always him.

“You never change,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

He tilts his head slightly, as if he can feel the weight of my gaze even without understanding everything it carries. “You look at me like you’ve seen me before.”

I return to the wound, to my hands that know exactly what to do — not just because I’m a doctor, but because they’ve cared for him in other lives too.

“You know… I don’t know who you loved,” Red Hood says, his voice low, carrying something that sounds almost like caution. “But I don’t understand why you see him in me.”

He hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.

“Is it because of the streak?” he continues. “You said he had one just like it.”

Because you are him, I think. The answer comes instantly, cruel in its certainty. But he isn’t ready to hear that yet. Maybe he never will be.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m not him,” he adds, his voice rough, slightly broken. “Don’t project him onto me.”

“Believe me,” I reply, shrugging as I finish working on the wound. “I know you’re not him.”

I step away to put the supplies away, trying to keep my voice steady — too neutral for someone carrying centuries of memories. When I turn back, I find his gaze fixed on me.

It’s not accusation. Not suspicion.

It’s curiosity.

“What was his name?”

The question comes far too simply for what it holds. It crosses the silence and finds something ancient inside me. For a moment, I almost laugh — not out of humor, but out of cruel irony. How do you give a single name to a soul that has crossed so many centuries? How do you choose just one among all the names I’ve spoken in other lives, in other bodies, in other endings?

I take a deep breath before answering.

“Alaric.”

The name leaves my lips with a weight he can’t measure. I watch the way he listens to it, as if trying to understand not just the word, but the space it occupies between us — as if the name hides more than it reveals.

“Did you love him?”

I lift my gaze slowly. There’s something in that question that isn’t just curiosity — it’s care, hesitation, the attempt not to step onto ground he senses is dangerous. I tilt my head slightly, searching for a lighter tone than the truth deserves.

“Don’t you think you’re a little too curious?” I tease, letting out a soft sigh, as if it could dissolve what comes next.

But it doesn’t.

The smile fades before it can even form. There’s no past in that answer. No distance enough for that.

“I love him,” I say.

He thinks for a few seconds and then nods slightly, as if accepting it.

“How long has he been gone?” he asks, tossing out another question, almost casually.

“At least sixty-one years…” I shrug.

He immediately frowns, leaning forward slightly.

“Sixty-one years?” he repeats, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You’re what… twenty-four?”

He crosses his arms, studying me closely, clearly expecting an explanation.

“I’m twenty-three.”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“So what?” He brings a hand to his chin, thinking. “You’re going to tell me you time-traveled and fell in love with him back then?”

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it more carefully. Then his eyes light up with humor.

“Hmm… let me guess. You loved him in a past life, and I look just like him.”

He laughs, pleased with his own theory.

That’s exactly it. Literally. I have to hold back from laughing with him.

“Maybe,” I reply, holding his gaze with a restrained smile.

“You’re funny,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he laughs, the tension easing a little.

“I thought I was weird…”

“You are,” he agrees, shrugging. “But I think you’re funny too.”

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms, playing along.

“So that’s how you fall in love with me, right?”

He looks at me for a second longer than necessary, still smiling, as if the joke has come dangerously close to the truth.

“I don’t fall in love,” he says. The sentence comes out simple, almost automatic, like something repeated so often it became a rule.

I tilt my head slightly, watching him for a few seconds before responding.

“But you will fall in love with me.”

He reacts with a half-incredulous smile, narrowing his eyes as if trying to decide whether I’m serious or just provoking him.

“And how are you so sure of that?”

I shrug, far too casually for the weight I carry.

“Because destiny wants it that way.”

He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head, like he’s just heard the most absurd thing of the night.

“Forget what I said,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. “You’re not funny. You’re… completely weird. Very weird.”

He crosses his arms, studying me with an attention he no longer tries to hide.

“You’re flirting with a vigilante you’ve seen, what… twice?” he continues. “And one of those times you brought me to your apartment.”

“You were unconscious,” I snap back immediately, exasperation slipping out. “I wasn’t going to leave you bleeding in the street.”

“You don’t bring a stranger home,” he insists, serious now. “What if I’d killed you?”

I shrug, without thinking too much. “But you didn’t. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

He stares at me for a moment far too long, as if trying to find logic where there clearly isn’t any. Then he laughs, disbelieving, rubbing his face.

“You’re insane.”

“Wow, you’re terrible at giving compliments,” I say, feigning indignation. “Insane, crazy, funny, weird… what’s next?” I bring a hand to my chin, theatrically. “How about beautiful?”

He watches me in silence for a second. The smile that appears isn’t mocking — it’s genuine, unexpected.

“I’ve got a new one,” he says.

I tilt my head. “What?”

“Depraved.”

The word catches me off guard. I burst out laughing, the sound escaping too easily, like that moment managed to break something inside me that had been tense for far too long.

And while I’m laughing, I notice something. He’s laughing too.

Maybe he says he doesn’t fall in love. But I’ve seen this story before.

—

The time moved forward in a quiet, steady way after that. There were no major changes, no remarkable events—just a silent continuity. Red Hood began to show up from time to time, always at night, always without warning. Sometimes he needed care; other times, just a place where he could pause for a few minutes. I never asked, and he never explained. That was how we worked.

As the visits went on, he started allowing himself small curiosities. Offhand questions, almost casual, that always seemed to circle back to Alaric. He wanted to know what he was like, what he did, what kind of world we had lived in. Sometimes he asked about me too—about the hospital, my days, the things I liked when I wasn’t saving lives. They were simple questions, but they carried a new kind of attention, an interest that grew quietly, without drawing notice.

I answered without going into too much detail, choosing carefully what to share and what to keep to myself. In return, he offered nothing about his own life. He never spoke of where he came from, or where he went after slipping back out the window. When I tried to turn the questions toward him, I was met with silence or a subtle change of subject. He stayed closed off, as if that part of his life were forbidden ground.

Even so, there was something comfortable in that imbalance. He learned about me little by little, while I came to know him in the only way he allowed—through his constant presence, the way he relaxed on the couch, the almost imperceptible way he seemed to feel at ease there. It wasn’t a fair exchange, but it was enough. At least for now. And without realizing it, those nights began to carry more than silence—they carried a shared curiosity that grew slowly, at the pace he was willing to accept.

—

I open the door to my apartment and step inside, the icy air slipping in with me. I close it behind me and take off my coat, hanging it on the rack near the entrance. Gotham is especially cold tonight — the kind of cold that cuts through fabric and seems to settle straight into your bones.

I take a few more steps into the living room. Then I see him.

Red Hood is standing in the middle of the room, completely still, a box clutched in his hands.

That box.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I freeze.

“What the hell is this?” I shout, my voice coming out louder than I meant it to. I stride toward him and rip the box out of his hands with a sharp pull. “Just because we got a little closer, you think that gives you the right to break into my apartment and go through my things?”

He doesn’t step back. He doesn’t try to explain.

“What?” he snaps, his voice tight with restrained anger. “No. What the hell is this — I’m the one who should be asking that!”

Before I can close the box, he pulls something out of it.

A photograph.

My stomach drops.

In the image, I’m standing beside Alaric — or rather, the version of me from another life. We’re young. Close. Loving each other in a way that doesn’t need words. Smiling. In the lower corner, written in letters worn thin by time, is a date: 1940.

“What the fuck is this?” he explodes, holding the photo up between us. “Why does he look exactly like me?”

His breathing turns uneven. His eyes dart from the photograph to me, as if searching for an explanation that shouldn’t exist.

“Why does it say 1940?” he continues, his voice breaking somewhere between fury and disbelief. “And why does she—” he points at me in the photograph “—look exactly like you?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of losing control.

And in that moment, I know the past has finally stopped being mine alone.

—

1940

The camera takes a second longer than it should to fire.

“Hold still,” I complain, laughing as I try to keep my face serious.

“I am holding still,” Alaric replies, clearly lying. His arm is wrapped around my waist, far too warm beneath his heavy coat. The white streak falls across his forehead the way it always does — unruly, impossible to tame, no matter the haircut or the era.

We’re standing in front of a modest building, the busy street stretching out behind us. The world is at war, but for a single moment, it doesn’t exist. There is only the two of us.

The click happens.

I barely notice. I’m too focused on the way he looks at me — as if he’s afraid he’ll forget my face the second he looks away. There’s something urgent in his gaze, something that’s always there when time already knows it’s going to steal us from each other again.

“Done,” the photographer says.

I turn to Alaric before I even think to thank him. He tilts his forehead down until it rests against mine, a small, intimate gesture that belongs only to us.

“When this is over,” he murmurs, so softly that only I can hear it, “we’ll leave. Far away from all of this.”

I smile, even knowing that promises rarely survive time. Still, I pretend to believe.

“You always say that.”

“And I always come back to you,” he replies simply.

We walk after that, our fingers intertwined inside our gloves, sharing what little warmth winter allows. The streets are gray, crowded with posters, hurried soldiers, bad news pasted to every wall. But he walks as if nothing in the world could touch us.

We stop at a small café, nearly empty. He takes off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders before I even realize I’m cold.

“You take care of everyone,” he says, watching me over the rim of his cup. “But who takes care of you?”

I shrug. “You do.”

He smiles that crooked smile I’ve seen so many times, in so many different worlds. The same smile that crosses centuries.

That night, we lie side by side, the room lit only by a weak lamp. I listen to his heartbeat beneath my ear — strong, steady, as if it could last forever.

“If I don’t come back,” he says, breaking the silence.

I turn immediately, pressing my hand to his chest.

“No.”

“If I don’t come back,” he insists, serious now, “promise me you’ll live.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “I only know how to live with you.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if that truth is both everything he wants and everything he fears.

“Then I’ll come back,” he says. “Even if it takes a whole lifetime.”

I kiss him before he can finish the sentence. A slow, deep kiss, as if I could carve that moment into my soul.

—

2005

The past dissolves like smoke.

Sound returns first. Then the cold light of the apartment. The weight of the present settles back in slowly, cruel and abrupt, the way it always does when a memory ends.

The photograph slips from his fingers and lands on the table with a dull sound.

It falls to the floor with a sharp crack, the noise echoing through the apartment in a way that feels wrong — as if it has shattered something invisible in the air.

Red Hood stands frozen for a second that lasts too long. His gaze is fixed on the paper at his feet, his breath caught in his chest. It isn’t immediate shock — it’s refusal. The kind of refusal the body enforces before the mind allows itself to accept anything at all.

“No…” The word comes out low, almost inaudible. “No. This isn’t real.”

He takes a step back, then another, as if distance alone could undo what he’s seen. He drags his hands hard over his face, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake up from a nightmare that refuses to dissolve.

“You’re crazy,” he says, his voice louder now, sharp, defensive. “This is some kind of psychological game. A sick manipulation.”

I crouch slowly and pick up the photograph from the floor. My fingers tremble slightly as they touch the aged paper. Not from fear — from memory. That image was never just a photo. It was always a promise.

“You want to know why he looks like you?” I ask, far too calm for the storm building between us.

“No,” he snaps quickly, almost aggressive. “I don’t want to know anything else.”

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t come closer. He stays.

Standing in the middle of the room, as if one wrong step could make everything collapse. His gaze is no longer on me — it’s lost somewhere between the fallen photograph, the open box, and something inside him that has begun to stir without asking permission.

“Alaric was born in 1919.”

The words aren’t spoken with force. They don’t need to be.

The air shifts.

It’s almost physical — as if the room has grown denser, heavier to breathe. His body reacts before his mind has time to build any kind of defense. His shoulders tense. His jaw locks so tightly it looks painful.

“What are you doing?” he asks, suspicious, his voice lower than before. “Stop it.”

But I go on.

“He grew up believing he’d have a simple life,” I say carefully, like someone stepping onto unstable ground. “Work, grow old, die old. Like everyone believes when they’re still young.”

He shakes his head slowly, in denial. He doesn’t look at me. “You’re making this up.”

"In 1940," I continue, feeling a lump in my throat, "he was drafted. By 1945, he was gone."

The word hangs in the air. Drafted.

Something in the way he breathes changes. “Drafted… for what?”

The question slips out almost against his will, softer now, less aggressive.

I take a step forward. Just one. “For the war.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s heavy. Dense. Too heavy for such a small space. He shifts back slightly, as if the floor has lost its solidity beneath his feet, as if he needs room just to stay upright.

“No,” he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“He didn’t want to go,” I say, my voice steady despite the pressure in my chest. “He was scared. Terrified. But he went anyway.”

He runs a hand through his hair, restless, pacing the room without direction, as if movement is the only thing keeping his head from splitting open.

“Stop,” he mutters. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He died there.”

The words don’t echo. They sink.

He stops moving instantly, like someone slammed the brakes without warning.

“Died… how?”

The question comes almost against his own will.

“In combat.”

The color drains visibly from his face. His breathing turns uneven, too shallow, as if the air has suddenly become insufficient.

“I was never there,” I add, my throat tightening. “I never got to say goodbye. I never saw the body. I only received the news.”

He looks at me now as if I’ve crossed something irreversible. As if I’ve spoken a truth too large to fit within four walls.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you asked why he looks like you.” I take another step. Now we’re dangerously close.

“Because he is you.”

He lets out a broken, nervous laugh that convinces no one — least of all himself.

“No.”

“You were born with that white streak in every life,” I continue, with a cruel softness. “Always in the same place. Always the same.”

“Enough!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. “This is a lie!”

“You don’t sleep with your back to the door.” My voice is low, steady.

“You react before you think. Your body remembers things your mind still can’t reach.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, as if trying to crush the truth inside his own head.

“You’re trying to break me.”

“I’m trying to tell you the truth.”

He points toward the box on the table, his hand shaking now without any attempt to hide it.

“And that?” He swallows hard. “Why did you keep all of this?”

The answer hurts. But it doesn’t hesitate.

“Because before I died in that life, I buried that box.”

His eyes open slowly. “What?”

“I buried everything I lived with him.”

My gaze locks onto his. There’s no escape there.

“So that if I came back, I could find it again.”

He drags his hands over his face, breathing far too fast now, like he’s on the verge of losing control.

“That’s sick!”

“That’s memory!”

He steps back, grabs his helmet with force, as if it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

“I don’t believe this,” he says, his voice fractured, almost pleading for something stable to hold onto. “I don’t believe in destiny. Or reincarnation. Or you.”

He stops by the window.

For a moment, I think he’s going to leave without another word. But then his voice slips out — low, vulnerable, barely audible.

“And if… if this is true?”

The question comes out soft, almost swallowed by the silence of the apartment.

My chest tightens, but I don’t answer right away. Some things don’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood. I just look at him, letting the weight of doubt find its place inside him.

He grips the helmet like an anchor, something to keep him in the present. He takes a step toward the window, then another, still hesitating — as if part of him wants to run while another part is still trapped there, in that moment.

Before he leaves, he doesn’t look back. The window closes. Silence fills everything again.

I stay where I am, unmoving, feeling the echo of what was said — and what wasn’t. I don’t know when he’ll return. I don’t know what he’ll do with what he heard. But I know something has shifted.

I don’t know how it’s possible for someone to remember all of their past lives. It should be forbidden. A flaw in the universe. A punishment reserved for those who dared to love too much.

To suffer for a life that no longer belongs to you. To cry over places that no longer exist. To miss people who have already turned to dust.

There is no return. There is no choice. You died.

And yet… I remembered.

I remembered every smallest detail, as if time itself had failed only with me. The colors, the smells, the weight of the air before every goodbye. I remembered every death that followed me like a patient shadow, always waiting. I remembered every hand I let go of, every pair of eyes that closed while I stayed behind — or left first.

I remembered all the happiness too. And maybe that was the worst part.

Because happiness hurts when you know it doesn’t last. I remembered everything.

But there was one memory that never faded. One presence that crossed centuries and always found me, no matter how different the world was.

Him.

Edward, with the serious smile and the silent promise of protection.

Lorenzo, who taught me that art can also be a form of prayer.

Julien, who loved me in a language that no longer exists.

And finally, my Alaric — with war‑weary eyes and a love that didn’t fit into the time we were given. My last.

Different names. Different manners. The same face. The same soul.

The love of my life, repeated in every life we lived together.

Those were his names in my past lives. The names I whispered before dying. The names I carried with me into nothingness — and back.

The name he carries in this life… I still don’t know.

And that haunts me.

Because he is hard to find. Too hard. As if fate were playing with me, hiding him among billions of ordinary faces. I’ve searched everywhere: in train stations, in overcrowded cafés, in glances that almost recognized mine.

I’ve searched in voices that made my heart race for no reason. In hands that almost felt right.

I know our meeting is supposed to be natural. It always was.

I never had to look before. He simply appeared — as if the world adjusted itself around that.

But I can’t let it happen the way it did in 1944.

Our last life. The shortest. The cruelest.

The most painful of all.

Because that time, I found him too late to live everything we were allowed to live.

And I lost him too fast.

And that is a memory I cannot allow myself to relive.

⸻

1944

“I’ll come back to you, my love. I promise.”

Alaric said it with a smile that always tried to hide the fear.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, as if that embrace could protect me from the world — or maybe protect himself from the idea of leaving. I buried my face in his chest for a moment, breathing him in deeply, trying to save that scent like something far too precious to lose.

“You can’t make promises you don’t know you can keep, Ric.”

My voice broke. I lifted my hand to the small white streak in his hair, fixing it carefully. I wanted to memorize every single feature of his face. Every line, every detail. Before he left to fight for us.

In that damned war.

“My love…” He cupped my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him. “When I swore to protect you and love you in all my lives, at that altar where we get married… in that place where I promised you loyalty, respect, and love…”

He took a deep breath, as if the words weighed too much.

“I also promised I would always come back to you. Even if it had to be in another life.”

His eyes searched mine, almost pleading. He needed me to believe. He needed that promise to be real for both of us.

And I did.

I always knew we would find each other in another life. I always knew. That certainty had always followed me — quiet, firm. But Alaric… my Alaric. God. The idea of losing him in that life was unbearable.

“Come back to me. Please.”

I almost begged, wrapping him in a desperate embrace. My body trembled, sobs slipping out without control. I broke there, in his arms, pretending this wasn’t goodbye.

“I promise, my love.”

He pressed his forehead against mine.

“I will come back to you. I always do.”

The kiss he left on my forehead was chaste, slow, heavy with everything we didn’t have time to say.

And then he stepped away.

And left.

—

2005

Maybe I already knew I wouldn’t see him again in that life.

That I wouldn’t feel his touch, his steady hands, his quiet care again. That I wouldn’t hear his promises whispered as if the world were kind enough to keep them.

Maybe I knew I wouldn’t have him anymore. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.

Because admitting that meant accepting that, for the first time, he didn’t come back.

And that was the promise that hurt the most to break.

When I learned of Alaric’s death, everything around me shifted out of place. The air grew too heavy to breathe. The world tilted, as if nothing were solid anymore.

I wanted to die with him. Or at least stop existing right then.

—

1944

I heard a knock at the door.

It was a simple sound. Ordinary. Almost too polite to carry a tragedy. Still, something inside me tightened. My heart raced before I even took the first step. I knew. My body knew. Even if my mind insisted on denial.

I opened the door.

A soldier stood there. The uniform too neat, posture rigid, eyes exhausted. He avoided looking at me, as if the floor were safer than what he had to say.

“Hello, ma’am… you’re Alaric’s wife, right?”

I nodded silently, unable to form words.

He extended his hand, hesitant. “I’m Nicholas. It’s a pleasure.”

It wasn’t.

He paused for too long. Swallowed hard. I saw the exact moment he decided to speak, even knowing there was no gentle way to do it.

And then I understood why he was there.

“Alaric… unfortunately passed away, ma’am.”

The words hit like gunshots. Each one opening a hole inside me.

“He died fighting for all of us. But especially for you.” The soldier finally looked up, and something was broken there too.

“We all knew how much he loved you. He never hid it.”

He removed his cap, holding it against his chest, as if that gesture could express a grief that didn’t fit into words.

That’s when I shattered.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t fall.

It was worse.

Something inside me simply gave way. As if an essential piece had been torn out, leaving only a cold emptiness behind.

“He left this for you.” Nicholas extended a letter. His hands trembled slightly.

“He wrote it before going into battle.”

The paper felt far too heavy to be just paper. As if it carried the last piece of him still existing in the world.

The soldier stayed there, not knowing what to do, what to say. And I didn’t know how to react either.

I wanted Alaric there. Because I knew I was going to break.

But I would break anyway.

Not because of the letter. Not because of the soldier. I would break because of his absence. Because of the promise that couldn’t be kept.

—

2005

I still have that letter.

It survived time, change, death. It survived me. A little before I died in that life, I already knew I would. It wasn’t a surprise or an accident. It was just… the end. Five years after Alaric’s death, when I was no longer the person he left behind.

Before leaving, I buried it.

I chose a safe place. A place no one would look for, but one I would know how to find. I did it with a strange, almost absurd certainty: I would return. And when I did, I would remember. Everything. The lives, the pain, the loves — especially him.

And that’s exactly what happened.

I came back.

And I remembered.

I dug up the letter with trembling hands, as if touching something sacred. The paper was no longer young, but it endured. And now, resting in my hand, it weighs more than it should. Not because of its material, but because of what it carries.

That letter is a reminder.

A warning. A promise. A scar.

It reminds me that I cannot allow what happened to Alaric and me in my past life to happen again. That I cannot wait. That I cannot trust time or chance alone, like I did before.

I need to find him again.

I need to feel that love that crossed wars, names, and deaths. I need to remember what it was like to be whole beside him. I need to fight for us, the way he did — even when the world was falling apart.

This time, I will do everything to last.

Because Alaric and I — or whatever name he carries in this life, a name I still don’t know — deserve more than interrupted endings. We deserve the love that was denied to us so many times.

And I won’t let fate decide alone again.

This time, I choose us.

⸻

“My love,

If you’re reading this, then I failed to come back to you. And that’s the only thing that truly frightens me.

I died fighting for us, yes, but no battle was harder than the idea of leaving you behind. There are nights when the sound of war fades, and all that remains is your name echoing in my head. I repeat it like a prayer, as if that could keep me alive one more day.

There wasn’t a single second, not one, when you weren’t with me. I think of you when I wake up. I think of you when I close my eyes. I think of you when I believe that moment might be my last. You’re in every part of me, even here, even now, even with everything falling apart.

You were the great love of my life.

There was no one before you. There will be no one after. Loving you was the only certainty I had in the middle of so much chaos.

If I don’t return in this life, please don’t think it means I abandoned you. I would never do that. Some souls simply get lost along the way… but they always find each other again.

I promise to look for you in other lives.

Even if I don’t remember your face.

Even if I have another name.

Even if the world is completely different.

I will feel you. I always do.

And when we meet again, I will love you with the same urgency, the same desperation — as if I knew, deep down, that time is never on our side.

Be strong for both of us, my love. Live. Breathe. Keep existing, even when it hurts. Because somehow, in a way I still can’t explain, that means I continue to exist too.

If there is an after, wait for me.

If there is another life, recognize me.

If there is a choice, I will always choose you.

I love you more than this life was capable of holding.

Forever yours,

Alaric.”

⸻

Gotham wasn’t easy. I arrived here just a year ago, and yet it already feels like the worst decision of my life. It’s not just that it’s a bad city.

It is, obviously, a bad city.

But it’s not just that. It’s everything. You don’t live in Gotham — you survive.

After a while, I understood why this city is full of vigilantes. Chaos forces heroes into existence. Fear pushes ordinary people to the edge of the impossible.

I could become one of them. My past lives have given me too much knowledge: fighting styles that no longer exist, techniques erased by time, movements no one else can learn. I know how to hurt. I know how to win.

But that kind of thing isn’t for me.

Vigilantes need passion. Fire in their chest. A reason strong enough to justify every sleepless night and every open wound. I leave that to those who still believe.

For an ordinary person — someone who doesn’t carry past lives whispering answers — learning self-defense isn’t a choice. It’s survival. Especially in Gotham.

In my case, it wasn’t fear that brought me here. It was work. A rare, almost irresistible opportunity. One of those jobs that comes disguised as a promise: professional growth, recognition, a salary good enough to make you ignore the silent warning at the back of your mind. I accepted it before I even thought about what Gotham would demand in return.

Being a doctor has never been easy. And Gotham makes sure to remind you of that every day.

Vigilantes deal with the city’s chaos on the streets, in the alleys, on rooftops. They face the noise, the violence, the visible monsters. We, doctors, deal with what’s left. With broken bodies. With pain that doesn’t make the news. With the consequences that chaos — and sometimes the vigilantes themselves — leaves behind.

Working at Gotham Hospital is a constant test of endurance. Every shift is a gamble. You never know what will come through those automatic doors: impossible injuries, interrupted stories, people who arrived too late. We’re never really prepared. We just keep going.

It’s exhausting. The kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a few hours of sleep. But despite everything, I like helping. I like the idea of restoring something that’s been broken, of giving breath back to someone who almost lost everything.

I like not letting people die. Even when I fail.

Like what happened with Alaric.

—

It’s past midnight when I finally leave the hospital. The corridor’s white lights stay behind, along with the smell of antiseptic and dried blood that never leaves my clothes, no matter how many times I wash them. My body feels heavy. Every muscle complains. The kind of exhaustion that isn’t just physical.

My apartment is nearby. Three blocks. Close enough that I don’t need a taxi, long enough to give me a few minutes of silence. Walking is usually the only part of the day when no one needs me.

Sometimes, I forget where I am. The lapse lasts only a moment.

The alley is narrow and poorly lit, shadows gathering in the corners as if they had a life of their own. I take two steps inside when the world drops.

A body falls from above with a dull, violent thud, knocking the air out of my lungs without even touching me. The sound echoes off the brick walls, too heavy to ignore. I freeze.

Red Hood.

The helmet stands out even in the dimness, the wrong color amidst Gotham’s dirty gray. My heart races. I’ve heard that name before — in whispers, in poorly told stories, always accompanied by fear and fascination. A new vigilante. Not exactly a hero. A man who doesn’t follow rules, who doesn’t pretend to be better than the city he lives in.

They say he uses guns.

They say Batman doesn’t approve.

For a moment, I think about stepping back. Pretending I didn’t see. Just walking away. In Gotham, that’s almost an instinct for survival.

But I can’t.

Because first and foremost, I’m a doctor. And doctors don’t choose who deserves help. Rumors don’t matter. The invisible blood someone might carry doesn’t matter.

Even if he were a serial killer, even if he were everything they say… I would still have to try.

I approach slowly, the sound of my breathing too loud in the alley’s silence. He’s big. Heavy. Too still for my liking. I kneel beside him, my knees touching the cold asphalt, trying to ignore the fear crawling up my spine.

Then the shots ring out.

From above. Close enough to make my stomach clench. Dry. Real. Someone is still there. There’s still danger.

That’s why he fell.

I swallow hard and look around, my brain running faster than my tired body. I think about how to get him out of there. How to drag that enormous man out of the alley. How to do it alone, while someone fires from above.

It seems impossible.

But abandoning someone who’s hurt has never been an option.

Never.

For a few seconds, I just stare at the body on the ground, as if it’s too heavy even for thought. He’s big, wide, solid, too solid for someone who fell from that height. My exhaustion screams, reminding me I just finished an endless shift. This isn’t how I imagined ending the night.

I take a deep breath. Once. Twice.

I can’t leave him here.

I touch his shoulder carefully, more to test my own courage than to wake him. No reaction. The red helmet stays still, pointing at nothing. He’s alive — I know that by the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest — but not for long if he keeps bleeding like that.

I place my hands under his shoulders and try to lift him. The weight pulls me forward, letting out a muffled groan from my throat. He’s too heavy. Much heavier than I expected. My arms tremble, muscles protesting, and I almost give up before I even start.

“Damn it…” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

I change strategy.

I slide one of his arms over my shoulder, feeling the dead weight settle against me. The smell of gunpowder and metal hits my nose. I hold tight on the side of his vest, using everything I’ve learned about leverage, not strength. Counting in my head.

One. Two. Three.

I pull.

My knee slips on the asphalt, my spine complains, but he comes off the ground with a low, heavy thud, leaning almost entirely on me. The impact takes my breath for a second. His weight bends me to the side, and for a moment, I think I’ll fall with him.

But I don’t.

I grit my teeth and start dragging him, step by step, my feet scraping the ground, every meter gained by sheer force. The sound of his body being pulled across the asphalt is too loud, too revealing. My heart races, matching the distant rhythm of the shots above us.

He moans, a low, unconscious sound, and that gives me enough energy to keep going.

“Hang on…” I whisper, not sure if I’m talking to him or to myself.

When I finally reach the alley exit, my arms are burning, my legs trembling, my breath coming in gasps. I let him slide carefully against the wall, supporting his back against the cold bricks. My hands are dirty with blood — his.

Getting to my apartment feels like an eternity.

Every step is calculated effort, every block conquered through sheer stubbornness. His weight remains crushing, hanging on me like an anchor. My arms no longer burn — they ache, on a deeper, more dangerous level. But I keep going. Because stopping would mean thinking. And thinking now isn’t an option.

The building facade appears at the end of the street like a fragile promise of safety. It’s nothing special. Old, dimly lit, the kind Gotham forgot to tear down. My hands shake as I search for the key in my pocket, trying not to let him slip completely.

The door finally yields.

The internal hallway smells of mold and old dust. The silence inside feels too strange after the street’s noise. I almost thank that no one appears, no one asks questions. I drag him upstairs, step by step, stopping more times than I want to admit. He feels heavier with every flight. Or maybe I’m just getting weaker.

When I reach my apartment, my legs are about to fail.

I open the door with my shoulder and practically pull him inside, leaving Gotham’s world behind. I close the door with my foot, the latch’s sound echoing too loudly in the small space.

My apartment is simple. Small. Safe enough for someone who doesn’t expect visitors — much less a wounded vigilante.

I lead him to the living room, tripping over the rug. The sofa appears ahead as the only possible option. I hold his arm better, adjust my position, and carefully — more carefully than my tired body wants — let him fall onto the cushions.

The impact is controlled, but still heavy. The sofa sinks under his weight.

For a second, I stay there, bent over him, trying to catch my breath. My chest rises and falls too quickly. My hands are still clinging to his jacket, as if letting go would mean admitting what I just did.

I brought Red Hood into my home.

Finally, I step back. Then another.

The dim light in the room reveals details more clearly: the scratched red of the helmet, the damaged vest, dark blood stains that weren’t mine a few minutes ago. He’s still, breathing, but vulnerable in a way I never imagined seeing a vigilante.

I run a hand over my face, feeling the weight of the choice fall on me.

“Alright…” I murmur to the empty room. “Let’s see the damage.”

And for the first time since I arrived in Gotham, I’m certain of one thing:

This night is far from over.

I pause for a few seconds, just watching the irregular rhythm of his breathing, as if it gives me permission to continue. Then I move. On autopilot. On the instinct that has never abandoned me.

I go to the bathroom and return with what I have on hand: a clean towel, gauze, a small bottle of antiseptic forgotten in the cabinet, scissors definitely not made for this. It’s not a hospital. Far from it. But it will have to do.

I kneel before the sofa and begin slowly.

I take off the jacket first, pulling carefully so as not to worsen whatever is underneath. The fabric gives, heavy, stuck in some spots. The metallic smell grows stronger. My jaw tightens automatically, professional. I’ve seen worse. Much worse.

“Don’t die now,” I murmur, not knowing why I speak. “Not after giving me so much trouble.”

I cut the shirt with the scissors, opening a path to assess the injuries. There are darkening bruises forming, impact marks, and bleeding along the flank that makes me inhale sharply before touching. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing I can’t handle for now.

I press the gauze against the wound, firm, steady. He stirs under my hands, a low groan escaping from his chest. He’s unconscious, but he feels. Always feels.

“I know,” I say softly. “It’s over now.”

I wipe the blood with precise movements, almost too gentle for someone like him. The contrast hits me hard: the man Gotham fears is now vulnerable on my sofa, depending on tired hands to keep breathing.

When the antiseptic touches the skin, he reacts again, body tensing for a second before relaxing. I instinctively hold his shoulder, firm enough to anchor him to the present.

“Stay with me,” I whisper.

I bandage the wound as best I can, adjusting pressure, making sure he isn’t bleeding more than he should. Then I move to the other injuries: superficial cuts, abrasions, old fall marks. He carries the body of someone who hasn’t rested in a long time.

When I finish, my hands are stained, my back aches, and the room’s silence feels different. Heavier. More real.

I sit on the floor, leaning against the sofa, breathing deeply for the first time since the alley. I look at him again, now a little more stable, a little less on the edge of the abyss.

I did everything I could.

—

I wake with a sore body and the strange feeling of being in the wrong place.

The sofa greets me back to consciousness with the delicacy of a punishment. My neck aches, my back stiff, and for a moment I forget why I didn’t wake up in my bed. Then the memory hits all at once, heavy, unavoidable.

Red Hood.

I turn my head slowly. He’s still there, lying on the other sofa — or rather, on my sofa — exactly where I left him. The helmet remains in place, intact. I didn’t remove it. I wanted to. I thought about it more times than I should have during the whole night. But I didn’t.

I spent the whole night awake, sitting in the chair, watching every breath, every tiny movement. Waiting for him to wake. Waiting for something to go wrong.

Nothing did.

Now, the weak morning sun filters through the curtain slits, illuminating the improvised mess from the night before: used gauze, stained towels, a forgotten cup of coffee on the table. Proof that this wasn’t a delirium caused by exhaustion.

I sit down slowly, trying not to make a sound.

That’s when he moves.

The movement is too sudden. A spasm, then tension. Within seconds, he’s partially upright, body rigid, hand going straight to where a weapon should be — but isn’t. The helmet turns toward me.

“Where am I?” The voice is hoarse, harsh, loaded with distrust.

“At my place,” I answer, keeping my tone low. Calm. “You were hurt.”

He tries to get up fully, fails, and lets out an irritated sound. He brings his hand to the bandaged flank, fingers pressing the dressing as if assessing the damage.

“Great,” he growls. “Now, on top of being shot, I’ve been kidnapped.”

I take a deep breath.

“You fell in my alley,” I say, crossing my arms. “I got you out before you took another bullet. If this is kidnapping, you can leave as soon as you can stand without falling.”

He tilts his head, the helmet reflecting the morning light, studying me like I’m a delayed threat. The silence is heavy.

“You touched me,” he says, accusation clear in his voice.

“I’m a doctor.” I shrug. “You were bleeding.”

“You didn’t take the helmet off?” he snaps, dryly.

“I didn’t,” I reply immediately. “Though I was curious.”

That seems to irritate him even more.

“So why am I awake here?”

I give a tired half-smile, without humor.

“Because I don’t let people die on the asphalt.”

He stays silent for a few seconds, chest rising and falling with more control now. Then he lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“Bad habit in Gotham.”

“I know,” I answer. “But it’s mine.”

He leans back on the sofa again, clearly frustrated, body still tense, ready to flee or attack if needed.

“As soon as I can walk,” he says, “I’m gone from your life.”

I tilt my head, staring at him firmly.

“Good,” I reply. “Believe me, that wasn’t in my plans either.”

The silence that follows is not comfortable.

I get up slowly, feeling every muscle protest as if being woken up by force along with me. Stretching my back helps a little. Enough to keep functioning.

“I’m going to get up,” I announce, more by reflex than courtesy.

I take a few steps to the small kitchen integrated into the living room. The cold floor beneath my feet brings me back to the present. I open the fridge and look at the contents with the same expression I wear after a long shift: evaluating options that are clearly not ideal.

Milk. Eggs. Bread. Nothing inspiring.

I turn my gaze toward him, leaning my hip against the counter.

“Want something to eat?” I ask, simple. “I don’t have many options, but I can improvise something for breakfast.”

The silence lasts a second longer than necessary.

“No,” he replies, too dry, too fast. “I don’t eat in places I don’t know.”

I raise an eyebrow, unsurprised.

“Alright,” I say. “But you spent the night bleeding on my sofa, so I guess the safety criterion has already been half ignored.”

He lets out a low, impatient sound.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“I know,” I reply, opening the cabinet and grabbing a mug anyway. “Still, food helps. Especially when you’ve lost blood.”

I put water to boil, more to give something to my hands than out of real insistence. The soft sound of the stove fills the space between us.

“I won’t force you,” I add, not looking at him. “Just thought it polite to ask.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. I feel the weight of his gaze through the helmet, evaluating, measuring, suspicious even of the most banal gesture.

“…What is it?” he finally asks.

I glance quickly over my shoulder.

“Coffee. Bread. Eggs. Nothing that will poison you. I promise.”

Another silence.

“Coffee,” he says finally. Short. Almost begrudging.

I nod, as if preparing coffee for an armed vigilante sitting on my sofa were the most normal thing in the world.

“Already a start,” I murmur.

The coffee is ready too quickly.

The smell spreads through the small, warm apartment, almost out of place after everything that happened inside. I fill two mugs, knowing he might not touch his. I carry one carefully to the sofa, as if any sudden movement could undo that fragile balance.

I extend the mug toward him.

“Slowly,” I warn. “It’s hot.”

He hesitates before taking it. The gloved fingers wrap around the ceramic for a second, as if assessing if it’s real. Then he accepts it. Doesn’t thank me. But doesn’t refuse either.

I step back and lean against the counter, watching as he brings the mug closer to the helmet. Pauses. Sighs, irritated with himself.

“This is going to be complicated,” he murmurs.

“Usually is,” I reply.

The silence stretches as he thinks. I see the exact moment he decides. His shoulders relax a little. Just a little.

“Turn around,” he says, firm.

I tilt my head, surprised by the request.

“I will,” I reply. “But not out of curiosity. Out of respect.”

I turn, facing the kitchen wall. I hear the dry click of clasps being undone, the slight friction of the helmet being removed. I don’t turn. Don’t peek. I count to ten in my head, as if necessary.

“You can turn,” he says.

When I do, the red helmet is resting beside him on the sofa.

But the face isn’t fully exposed yet.

A simple black domino mask covers his eyes, subtle, discreet, almost antique. The kind of thing that doesn’t attract attention — exactly the opposite of the helmet.

For a moment, my brain tries to reconcile the two images: the violent symbol Gotham fears, and the wounded man holding a coffee mug in my living room.

“I thought you’d take everything off,” I say, without judgment. Just observation.

“This is all,” he replies, taking a small sip of coffee. “The rest isn’t your business.”

I shrug. “Fair enough.”

He watches me over the rim of the mug, eyes now visible, alert, assessing every detail of me as if mapping nonexistent threats.

“You could’ve taken it off,” he says, quietly. “While I was out.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The answer comes too easily.

“Because you didn’t ask. And because I didn’t need to see your face to save your life.”

He falls silent. Eyes drop to the mug for a second, then return to me.

“Good coffee,” he comments, almost begrudgingly.

A corner of my mouth moves, a half-smile that never fully forms. “I told you it’s all I had.”

He takes another, longer sip this time, body relaxing a bit more against the sofa.

And for the first time since he fell from the sky into my path, he seems… human.

Even hidden behind a mask. The coffee cools before I notice.

He sits on the sofa, the helmet beside him, the domino mask still covering his eyes. Morning light slants through the window, illuminating tiny things too small to matter. Dust. Crumbs. The world pretending to be normal.

Then I see his hair.

It’s not immediate. Not dramatic. Just a detail out of place. An old mistake too persistent to be coincidence.

A wide white streak, cutting through the dark without asking permission.

My body reacts before my mind.

The tightening in my chest, dry, familiar. It wasn’t surprise. It was recognition. Like hearing a song you haven’t listened to in centuries and still knowing every lyric.

He notices my silence.

“What is it?” he asks, this time without aggression. Just alert.

I shake my head slowly.

“Nothing.”

Lie.

I move a little closer, pretending to check the bandage, anything to justify my eyes staying on him. The white streak is there. Real. Defiant.

“You were born with that?” I ask, too casually for someone falling apart inside.

He gives a crooked half-smile.

“Yes,” he says. “Always been there.”

Of course it had. I swallow hard.

“I met someone…” I start, then stop. Breathe deeply. Start again. “I met someone who had exactly the same thing.”

He lifts his gaze to me. Attentive.

“Someone important.”

Not a question.

“They were.” I answer. “A long time ago.”

He furrows his brow slightly, as if trying to measure the sentence.

“The way you talk, it sounds like that was in another life.”

The world didn’t fall. But something inside me smiled.

“Maybe it was.”

The silence settles, dense but not hostile. He takes another sip of coffee, watching me over the rim.

“You talk about the past like it’s still walking around.”

“Sometimes it is,” I say. “Just with another name. Another life. Another fight.”

He lets out a low, humorless laugh. “You’re weird.”

“I know.”

He sets the mug on the table, fingers tapping once on the ceramic, restless.

“And this someone you met…” he hesitates. “Did you lose them?”

My gaze drops to the white streak again.

“Many times.”

Something changes in the air.

He looks away first, as if that answer touched something too sensitive.

“Funny…” he murmurs. “I’ve always felt like I’ve lived too much for someone my age.”

My heart races.

“Some souls don’t know when to stop,” I reply. “They insist. Even when they shouldn’t.”

He stays silent. Long. Heavy. As if hearing something not coming from me.

“Whoever that guy was,” he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

I lift my gaze to him.

“Don’t be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because, somehow,” I say, choosing each word, “he always finds his way back.”

He stares at me for a few seconds. Intently. As if trying to recognize me without knowing from where.

“You talk like you’re sure of that.”

And I was.

“I am.”

He rises slowly, body still rigid, and walks to where the helmet is. Picks it up, turning it over in his hands, thoughtful.

“You should be careful with that kind of certainty,” he says. “Gotham swallows people like that.”

“I survived worse,” I reply.

He puts the helmet on, but before fully securing it, hesitates.

“Doctor…” he begins, then stops. “I don’t know why, but… being here feels wrong.”

My chest tightens. “Wrong how?”

“Like I’m late for something,” he says. “Or too early.”

I smile. Small. Painful.

“That’s how it always starts.”

He doesn’t ask what I mean.

He adjusts the helmet under his arm and heads for the door as if he’d already decided to go, but his body hasn’t caught up. He opens it, letting the cold hallway in, and then stops.

“Hey.”

I turn immediately.

He isn’t looking at me directly. Looking at the floor, the doorframe, anything but me.

“Thanks,” he says. “For what you did yesterday.”

I nod slowly. Still too strange inside to respond quickly. Knowing who he was — who he always had been — made everything a bit out of focus, like I was seeing the present with eyes too old.

“You were hurt,” I bite my lower lip. “That was it, or leaving you there.”

He lets out a short breath through his nose.

“Most would have left.”

We stay silent for a few seconds. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. Just… awkward.

“Take care,” I say, before I can think better.

The words come out simple. Weightless. Without speech.

He lifts his gaze immediately, visibly confused. “Take care?”

“Yes.” I shrug, trying to look normal. “You’re not indestructible.”

He studies me a moment longer than necessary. “Strange for you to say that.”

“Why?”

“Because you speak like you’re sure.”

I don’t answer. No need.

He looks away first.

“Anyway,” he says, securing the helmet. “I wasn’t supposed to stay here this long.”

“I know.”

He opens the door fully.

“Still…” he hesitates. “Thanks.”

I nod again. “Go carefully,” I repeat, quieter now.

He stops in the hallway, turning only his head toward me. “Do you always talk like this to strangers?”

I think for half a second. “Only to the ones who matter.”

That catches him off guard. You can see it.

“Hm,” he murmurs. “Then I better not get used to it.”

“Yes,” I reply. “Better not.”

He lingers for one more second, as if wanting to say something but not knowing what. Then he gives a brief nod and walks down the hallway.

I close the door slowly. Lean my back against it.

And I stayed there, breathing, with the quiet certainty in my chest that he had found my concern strange — not because he didn’t deserve it, but because he still didn’t remember what it was like to be loved.

Again.

I went to the sink, washed my hands slowly. The smell of antiseptic was still on them. Always stayed. Some things don’t come off easily, even after years. Even after other lives.

Alaric came back like this in memory. Not as love, not as tragedy. As fact.

The same man, the same soul, making the same mistakes with an almost irritating insistence. Always drawn to conflict. Always convinced he had to carry everything alone. Always uncomfortable when someone got too close.

Red Hood was no exception. He was continuation.

I leaned on the counter, looking at my reflection in the window glass. I looked calm. I was calm. There was no shock, no denial. I had known who he was from the moment I saw him bleeding on the alley floor.

That wasn’t the surprise.

The surprise was realizing that, this time, I didn’t want to watch.

In other lives, I had waited. I had been cautious. I had respected danger, time, the “don’t get involved.” And it always ended the same way: too late.

Now, no.

Entering his life wouldn’t be safe. That was obvious. Gotham didn’t offer space for clean relationships, and he was practically made of risk. But I was no longer naive enough to confuse danger with reason to step back.

I knew what I was choosing. It wasn’t heroism. It wasn’t romance. It was strategy.

If I wanted to keep him alive — whole, or as close to it as possible — I couldn’t stay on the sidelines. I needed to be close enough to be real. Present enough to not be disposable.

Winning him over wouldn’t be a matter of pretty words or promises. Never was. It would be constancy. Time. Staying when he tried to push away.

I had done that before.

Only, this time, without leaving in the end.

I grabbed my jacket, checked my phone, and turned off the kitchen light.

Red Hood thought he walked alone.

When Damian was born, Jason and I had already been dating for almost a year. Even so, nothing could have prepared us for the chaos that came with his arrival. Wayne Manor had never felt so alive — and so loud. All the batboys were in a complete state of panic, pacing back and forth, arguing over absurdly small details as if the world would end if anything went wrong.

It was almost funny how badly they wanted everything to be perfect for the newest member of the family.

Jason, in particular, took the mission to a nearly dangerous level. He almost got into a fight with his brothers because he wanted to be the only one helping to set up Damian’s room. He didn’t accept suggestions, help, or even anyone else’s presence. In the end, he got his way — but not before threatening nearly everyone, saying he’d pistol-whip anyone who tried to take that moment away from him.

When Damian was finally born, everything seemed to go quiet for a moment.

He was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen in my life. Small, delicate, with features far too striking for someone so new to the world. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering that beauty seemed to be a hereditary trait in that family, but still… there was something about him that held your gaze.

In the first few months, Jason and I went to Wayne Manor almost every day. Always carrying bags full of gifts, toys, and things he didn’t even know how to use yet. Damian seemed to enjoy the attention, as if he knew exactly when all eyes were on him. Even as a newborn, he gave off the strange impression that he understood everything around him — quietly observing, far too aware for his age.

Now, Jason and I are standing in front of the manor’s entrance, about to walk into Damian’s second birthday party.

In just two years, he went from being a quiet baby to an adorable little boy… or almost adorable. Damian never liked being picked up or showered with kisses by just anyone. He always made it very clear when something bothered him. I vividly remember a time when one of Dick’s friends tried to grab him without warning. Within seconds, Damian grabbed the TV remote and hit her square in the head.

For a few seconds, no one knew exactly what to do.

Laughing felt wrong. Apologizing did too.

After all, there stood a grumpy little mini-man, setting his boundaries loud and clear from a very early age.

Still, there was something that always surprised everyone in the family: Damian had grown attached to me. Not just anyone received his hugs, his affection, or his rare smiles. Not even his own father seemed to get as much affection as I did. When Damian wanted to be held, it was my name he called. When he was tired or irritated, it was with me that he calmed down.

Don’t ask me where that child got so much personality.

All I know is that, from the moment he was born, Damian always knew exactly who he was — and who he would allow to stay close.

When we walked into the manor, everything was decorated in shades of red and black, with a few touches of yellow scattered here and there. Everything looked impeccable — beautiful, even luxurious, considering the celebration was meant to be just for family. Bruce always preferred to celebrate moments like that in a more intimate way, far from big events.

As soon as Damian saw me walk in, the scene was almost comical.

He had a scowl on his face, staring at Tim, who was desperately trying to get at least one smile out of him for the picture. Nothing worked. Damian remained serious, clearly annoyed by all the attention. But the moment his little eyes landed on me, everything changed. His grumpy expression melted away and, as if by magic, he broke into a huge, ear-to-ear smile.

Tim looked confused for a few seconds before turning toward me. When he saw me, he rolled his eyes, immediately understanding the reason behind the sudden smile.

“OH MY GOD! HE’S SMILING!” Tim shouted, drawing everyone’s attention.

All eyes turned to Damian.

Dick was the first to react. He pointed at me and made a desperate gesture for me not to move.

“Stay right there! We need pictures of this grumpy kid smiling,” he said, nearly panicked.

“That’s it, look at your muse and smile,” Tim joked, camera already in hand, snapping several photos in a row.

Beside me, Jason scoffed, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

“Babe… sometimes I think there’s a man in this world more in love with you than I am, when I see the way Damian looks at you.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. “But then I remember that’s impossible.”

Damian’s smile stayed right there — firm, proud — as if he knew exactly the effect he had, and as if he were perfectly satisfied being the center of attention, as long as I was nearby.

As soon as we got closer, Damian immediately stretched his little arms toward me, asking to be picked up. He mumbled something that sounded like “sister” in his tangled baby language, pulling an automatic smile from me.

“Hey, man… I’m here too. An ‘hi’ would be nice, since you don’t seem to notice me at all,” Jason complained, gently grabbing Damian’s tiny hand and shaking it a little.

Before I could respond, a voice came from behind Jason, making us jump slightly.

“Man, I think Damian’s going to try to steal your girl when he gets older,” Barbara said. She hadn’t appeared until then.

Jason immediately crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the mini-man now settled comfortably in my arms.

“I’m gonna kill him, the little son of a bitch.”

“Jason! Watch your language!” I scolded him seriously, giving his chest a firm slap.

He pointed at Damian, completely offended.

“See? This little brat is already causing problems in my relationship.”

Damian, meanwhile, just laughed. He seemed not to care about Jason at all — or maybe he cared a little too much. As soon as Jason finished talking, Damian lifted his tiny hand, cupped my cheek, and kissed it. A completely slobbery, ridiculously adorable kiss.

I looked at Jason.

He was standing there, jaw dropped, utterly indignant and speechless.

When Damian pulled back, leaving my cheek completely covered in drool, he turned to Jason and stuck out his tongue with a triumphant grin.

For a few seconds, there was silence.

Then everyone burst out laughing, completely surprised by the little one’s bold attitude.

“You motherfucker… I’ll let you grow up and then—” Jason started, but was immediately cut off.

“Jason!” I shot him a deadly look.

A year had passed since everything that happened between Dick and me. A whole year of new things, of a life that had to keep moving even without him. We lost contact. There was no fight, no shouting, no doors slammed shut. It just happened. Slowly, almost imperceptibly. We drifted apart little by little, like two people letting go of each other’s hands without even realizing it. We both needed space, even if it hurt to admit that.

At first, after everything, Dick was still constant. He didn’t give me the space he promised right away. Every week, I received a bouquet of flowers, sometimes roses, sometimes peonies, often lilies. He knew they were my favorites. I got messages throughout the day, asking how I was, checking in on me, as if he needed to make sure I still existed. As if doing that allowed him to stay present in my life. It was his quiet way of reminding me that he still loved me.

With time, the bouquets stopped. Then only the messages remained. Fewer. More spaced out. But they still came.

Until one ordinary day, about two months after everything, I felt something shift for good. I got a call from him. Dick sounded frustrated and, at the same time, strangely relieved. He and Barbara had broken up. I don’t know exactly what happened between them. I only know they ended things peacefully. Dick told me he had told her everything.

She said she already knew.

That shocked me. Not because it was impossible, but because, somehow, I had always believed that was just ours. Something kept between us.

Even so, I tried to be strong. I tried to be rational. I advised Dick. I told him he needed time, that being single could be good. That he needed to find himself without depending on anyone. I think he listened.

The messages became even rarer, until there was nothing left. Silence. He needed space, and deep down, I knew I needed it too.

I won’t say I didn’t miss him. I did. A lot. It hurt like hell. Despite everything, Dick was my best friend. My confidant. He was part of my routine, my everyday life, the small things. It was natural to have him there. So when he wasn’t anymore, there was a void impossible to ignore. It hurt like hell.

That’s when I realized how dependent I had become on him. How much of myself I had shaped around his presence. I needed to detox from Dick, for my own good, even if it destroyed me a little in the process.

During that year, I rediscovered myself. I found new tastes, new desires, things I had never shared with him. I realized some things I did weren’t because I truly loved them, but because he did. Because it was easier to share than to face who I was on my own. I found a new style, changed my haircut. I looked different.

Dick didn’t know me anymore.

And still, I looked for him in everything. In familiar faces, in familiar laughs, in songs that had nothing to do with him but still reminded me of him. I wanted any trace of him. I still remembered, not with the same constancy as before, but I remembered.

I still loved him. And there was no way not to love the only person I had ever truly loved.

The difference was that, at some point, I began to love myself too. I started enjoying my own company. Doing my hobbies alone. Existing without needing him there all the time. For the first time, I didn’t feel incomplete for being alone.

I didn’t hear much about Dick. People avoided talking about him around me once everything came out. Thank you, Barbara, for that. But I understood her. She needed support, even if she didn’t get much.

Once, I heard Tim tell her she knew exactly what she was getting into. That she had placed herself between us. And that she needed to accept she couldn’t handle it, much less the fact that our feelings for each other never truly died.

It was one of the only times I heard someone say, without sugarcoating it, the raw truth about what happened between Dick and me.

I know he’s doing well now. I know he’s in Blüdhaven. Honestly, Gotham doesn’t feel the same without him. It never did.

But I’m glad he found a city to call his own.

It was on an ordinary day that I saw him again. It wasn’t warm, quite the opposite. After all, how could it be? This was Gotham. A city that had always been dark, heavy, full of secrets buried in its streets.

Gotham wasn’t warm. But he was. He always was.

It was snowing, and I was so bundled up I looked like a ball of fur. The cold cut deep, straight into my bones. Then I heard his voice, a voice so familiar my body reacted before my mind could.

The voice that whispered confessions in the middle of the night. The voice that told me he loved me. That I was the only one.

“You look so different I almost didn’t recognize you,” Dick said, his warm voice always clashing with Gotham’s cold.

I looked at him. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets, like he was protecting himself. Like he was afraid of exposing too much. He looked embarrassed. Different. His hair wasn’t as long as before, but not too short either.

He looked beautiful. He always had.

“I’m not the only one who looks different,” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were in town.” I took a step toward him without realizing it.

“I missed you,” I said, before I could think.

Dick smiled and pulled me into a hug. Not rushed. Not desperate. Firm. Familiar. Painfully familiar.

“I missed you too. A lot,” he replied, his voice muffled against my hair.

“What are you doing in Gotham?” I asked, even though I knew the answer might hurt.

“I came to get my girl,” he said, with a suggestive smile, flirting like no time had passed.

“Your girl?” I pretended not to understand, even as my heart raced.

“Yes,” he answered, looking at me like he never stopped. “You.”

I didn’t know what to say. Truly, I didn’t.

The boy I loved most, the man who had been the center of my dreams for so long, was standing right in front of me, practically saying he came back for me. As if a whole year of absence could be compressed into a single sentence. And I froze.

Dick noticed. He always did. He shrugged, a small, almost insecure gesture, like he was stepping onto ground that once belonged to him but wasn’t sure anymore.

“One step at a time,” he said, trying to sound light. “How about a Brownie?”

His hands were still in his coat pockets, and there was something shy about it, something I hadn’t seen in him in a long time.

“How about coffee?” I replied softly, more to myself than to him.

He frowned, genuinely confused. “I thought you liked Brownie.”

“I used to,” I corrected gently. “It’s not really my thing anymore. Not so much.”

Dick stayed quiet for a few seconds, thinking. Then he nodded, like it was no big deal.

“Coffee, then.”

When we sat down at the café, Dick seemed tense, like he was choosing his words too carefully.

It didn’t take long for that to fade. The conversation flowed, and for a few moments it felt like the year of silence had never existed. Everything felt strangely familiar.

He flirted here and there, dropped a few hints about why he was in Gotham, and I noticed. I just didn’t comment.

“So…” I stirred my iced coffee with the straw, watching the ice spin in the cup. “Blüdhaven, huh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What’s good there?”

Dick thought for a moment, looking out the window before answering. “It’s nice. Kind of like Gotham, actually. I wanted to get out of Bruce’s shadow, but ended up choosing a city that lives in Gotham’s shadow.” He let out a short, humorless laugh and sighed. “It’s funny, if you think about it.”

“A little.” I smiled softly. “But I’m glad you found a place to call your own.” I shrugged. “I still don’t know why I stay in Gotham.”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, like he was thinking about an idea before saying it out loud.

“Why don’t you come to Blüdhaven with me?”

I raised my eyebrows immediately. His ears turned red almost at once, giving away his nerves.

“You came back to take me out of Gotham, Dick Grayson?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “I mean… not exactly.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to organize his thoughts.

“Then what?” I encouraged calmly.

“I just want to know if there’s still space for me in your life.” He shrugged, unable to look at me. “And maybe… see if you’d be willing to step out of Gotham a little.”

I bit my lip, my heart racing despite my effort to stay calm. “One step at a time, Grayson,” I said, because I still didn’t know how to put everything into words.

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring at his hands like the answer mattered more than anything else that year.

“So…” he took a breath. “Is there still space?”

“There always was, Dick.”

—

After my reunion with Dick, the days that followed went by fast. He didn’t leave Gotham. He said he’d stay for a while and made it clear it was just to win me back.

I had never felt so much like a teenager as I did around him. The feeling was the same. My heart raced like it was about to burst out of my chest, and the butterflies in my stomach appeared so fast it felt like a race every time he talked to me.

Dick Grayson would always have that effect on me.

But I asked for calm, and I was relieved to see he respected that.

I’m getting ready for work when my phone vibrates with a message from him.

“Hey, princess, what are you doing?”

I bite my lip and smile to myself.

Princess.

Since we reunited, Dick brought back the nicknames that make me want to jump with excitement. I feel like a little girl when her first crush finally pays attention to her. Well… in a way, that’s exactly what’s happening.

“Hi, Grayson. Getting ready for work. Why?”

The reply comes fast.

“I’m here to pick you up. I’m taking you today.”

I stop reading for a second, completely stunned. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and, almost without thinking, decide to change clothes and get a little more dressed up.

I roll my eyes at myself. But honestly, who could blame me?

When I step outside, Dick is leaning against his car, waiting for me.

“Wow… you look beautiful,” he says as soon as I get close. He takes my hand and spins me gently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “How are you?” he asks, with that smile that makes me want to do questionable things, maybe kiss him. Maybe.

“I’m good, Dick,” I reply, smiling a little shyly.

“Alright, let’s go.” He opens the car door for me. “I don’t want my princess to be late for work.”

I get in, and he sits in the driver’s seat right after. Before starting the car, he grabs a bag and places it in my lap.

“I brought you coffee. And sweets.” He shrugs, a bit awkward. “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so… I brought all of them.”

I laugh softly. “My God, Richard… you didn’t have to. But thank you.” I turn toward him and give him a quick kiss on the cheek without thinking.

He freezes. Literally. He stares at me, mouth slightly open, and lets out a long breath.

“Do it again?” he asks, almost like a plea.

“Drive the car, Grayson. I’m going to be late,” I say, rolling my eyes as I put on my seatbelt.

He pouts obviously. “Please?”

This time, I can’t resist and end up laughing.

I cross my arms, trying to look serious, even with the smile threatening to break free. He notices and finally gives in, letting out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh.

“Fine… I’ll go without my kiss, then…” he says, pouting dramatically before finally driving off.

The ride to work goes by too fast. When he parks in front of the building, the sound of the engine shutting off fills the silence that settles between us. Dick doesn’t move. He just looks at me, like he’s putting something off.

“So…” he begins, his voice lower than before. “I’ll have to go back to Blüdhaven today.”

My body reacts before my mind. I freeze. I wasn’t ready for that. Not now.

“What? Why?”

“Some things came up there. Things that need me.” He shrugs, but his eyes give him away. “But I’ll be back. I promise. Just a few days.”

I nod slowly, trying to look stronger than I feel. “Okay, Dick…” I hesitate before adding, “Text me, okay?”

He smiles immediately, like that was the right answer. “You won’t go a second without hearing from me.”

Silence returns, heavier this time. Then he tilts his head, that familiar smile appearing.

“Since I’m going back to Blüdhaven and you won’t see me for a few days…” he pauses. “How about that cheek kiss again?”

Dick Grayson never missed a chance. Never had.

I give in, sighing softly and shrugging. What was wrong with a kiss, after all?

I lift my hand to his cheek and lean in without thinking. Dick realizes too late that I’m not aiming for his cheek. His eyes widen for a second before closing. I do the same.

When our lips meet, there’s no hesitation. The kiss fits instantly, firm, like it had just been waiting to happen. His mouth is warm, and the determined way he kisses me makes my heart race immediately.

He pulls my waist closer, not too hard, but enough to make it clear he wants this. His hand slides to my neck, holding me there, stopping me from pulling away even if I wanted to, and I didn’t. I respond without thinking, opening space, feeling the kiss deepen in seconds.

I run my hand along his neck and tug at the hair at his nape. Dick lets out a low sound against my mouth, almost a groan, and it completely unravels me.

We go on a few seconds longer than we should, until the air starts to run out. We pull away slowly, breathing heavily, still too close.

“Fuck…” he says, breathless. “I’ve waited for that almost my whole life.”

I open my eyes and smile, my heart pounding too hard in my chest. “Have a good trip back to Blüdhaven, Dick.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to pull himself together. “Damn, princess… you completely knocked me off balance.” He laughs softly. “I’ll call you when I get there. Have a good day at work, sweetheart.” He leans in and places a gentle, careful kiss on my cheek, different from before, but just as meaningful.

I nod, still smiling, and open the car door. Before closing it, I look at him one more time.

Then I walk away.

As I head toward work, my heart still racing and my lips still tingling, I know nothing between us is resolved. But it isn’t lost either.

—

A month passed, and Dick still hadn’t come back.

It wasn’t his fault. What was supposed to last a few days stretched much longer than expected, and I could feel his frustration even from a distance.

Still, he never stopped being present.

Dick sent messages throughout the day, made a point of ordering coffee to be delivered to my place, sometimes without warning. And flowers. So many flowers. In a single month, there were four different bouquets, and I felt so absurdly happy it was like I might burst.

Sometimes, when he didn’t have to patrol at night, he’d call just to ask how I was. No rush. No pressure. Just to hear my voice.

Today was one of those days.

We’re on a video call, both silent, just looking at each other through the screen. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, it’s the kind that happens when no words are needed. The conversation simply fades, and still, neither of us hangs up.

He watches me closely, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. I do the same.

“I miss you” Dick says suddenly, his voice low, almost like a confession.

I smile before answering. “So you’re saying Richard Grayson misses me?” I raise my eyebrows playfully.

“I do” he says without hesitation. “And you? Don’t you?” He mirrors my expression, eyebrow raised, an easy smile on his face.

“I do, Grayson.” My voice comes out more honest than I intended. “I miss you.”

His smile changes. Softer. Real.

“I promise I’ll be there soon, my love,” he says gently, like he wants those words to cross the screen.

And even miles apart, in that moment, I believed him.

That night, we fell asleep on the call, trying to make the most of each other’s presence, even from a distance. We didn’t talk the whole time. Sometimes, just hearing the other’s breathing felt like enough.

—

The days that followed passed slowly. I kept my routine, work, home, small habits now carrying his presence in some way. Dick stayed constant, in his own way.

We couldn’t always talk on calls. There were busy days, long nights, clashing schedules. But we always left a message. A “did you get home safe?” A “good night.” Just to confirm the other was still there.

Two weeks passed like that. Two calm weeks. No overwhelming anxiety. No exaggerated promises.

Until, two weeks later, Dick finally returned to Gotham.

It was a Saturday, and I had decided to stay home. No plans, no noise, no one, just me and my own company. Sometimes, silence is a safe place.

Dick had been strange since the day before. Distant. He hadn’t talked to me all day, which wasn’t like him. I had texted him, expecting his usual quick reply, but it never came. He always answered, even if it was just a “I’ll talk to you in a bit.” That absence weighed more than I wanted to admit. It made me sad… and worried.

I was sitting on the couch, hugging a pillow without realizing it, lost in my thoughts, when the doorbell rang. My heart jumped. I immediately found it strange, I wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Just a minute, I’m coming!” I shouted from inside, getting up slowly.

“No rush!” someone replied from the other side of the door.

I froze.

Wait…

I knew that voice.

My body reacted before my mind. I ran to the door and opened it without thinking.

“Dick!”

His name slipped from my lips along with relief. I jumped into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug, like I was afraid he’d disappear if I let go. He smiled and wrapped his arms firmly around my waist, holding me like that was exactly where he belonged.

“Wow… I wasn’t expecting to be welcomed like this,” he said in that light tone that always unraveled me, before leaning down to kiss my neck gently.

“My God! Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” I asked, lightly hitting his chest, more relieved than mad.

“Normally, we don’t warn people when we’re planning a surprise, love” he replied with a calm smile.

It was only when I pulled back a little that I noticed what he was holding. A bouquet.

“This is for you, princess. I missed you,” he said, his hand still firm on my waist, like he had no intention of letting go.

“Thank you, Dick… you didn’t have to,” I said with a shy smile, feeling my face warm. I took the bouquet carefully, like it was more than just flowers. “I missed you too.” My fingers climbed on their own, threading into his neck, pulling him a little closer.

“You did, huh?” He flashed a provocative smile, the kind that always meant trouble, and leaned in slowly.

“Yes, big guy. But don’t get too excited.” I gave his chest a light tap and stepped back laughing while he stared at me, clearly offended.

“I stay away for a month and a half and I don’t even get a kiss? Come on, love. You’re cruel.” He pouted dramatically.

Dramatic. Very dramatic.

“Calm down, love. You’ll get a kiss. When we’re inside the house,” I said like it was obvious, subtly pointing to the door, after all, we were still standing in the entrance.

Dick seemed to agree, even if reluctantly, and followed me inside. As soon as we were in, he closed the door behind us and locked it, far too calmly for someone who had been complaining seconds earlier.

“Wait… did you just call me love?” He froze, staring at me.

I looked at him, and the smile that spread across his face was too big to fit there. Impossible not to smile back.

“I don’t know… did I?” I put my hand on my chin, pretending to think, clearly playing dumb.

“Yes, you did.” He didn’t give me time to escape. He moved fast, pulling me by the waist until my body was pressed against his, like that distance was unacceptable.

He didn’t say anything else. He just looked at me, like he was trying to memorize every detail of my face after so long apart. His hand still firm on my waist, his thumb making slow, absent-minded circles. My heart beat too loud for the silence.

“I want my kiss,” he murmured, his voice low, too close.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

I slid my hands up his chest to his neck, pulling him slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted, but Dick didn’t. Instead, he leaned in first, resting his forehead against mine, breathing the same air.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed. It was calm, filled with all the accumulated longing, like every second apart was being made up for. His lips moved gently, but with a certainty that made my legs weaken. I responded without thinking, tightening my grip around his neck, like that kiss was proof he was really there.

When we pulled away, our foreheads still touching, he smiled that smile only he had, vulnerable and confident at the same time.

“I love you” he said, like that truth had lived in him all along.

My chest tightened, my eyes burned, and I smiled before I even realized I was smiling.

“I love you too, Dick” I replied, my voice low but steady. “I always have.”

He pulled me into another hug, tighter this time, like he was promising he wouldn’t leave again. I buried my face in his chest, feeling his heart racing just as fast as mine.

And there, among forgotten flowers on the table, a locked door, and two people who had finally found each other again, everything made sense.

—

Fighting with Dick was always difficult, especially when a conversation stopped being small and turned into something far too big for the both of us. I still don’t know how a simple “I wish you spent more time at home, you’ve been distant” turned into raised voices.

Maybe it was because I didn’t say it exactly like that. Maybe I let more hurt slip out than I should have. But who could blame me? I was upset. My husband didn’t seem as present anymore, we were drifting apart, and I hated the feeling of losing him little by little. Being away from Dick was almost unbearable, because when I got home after a day that was only slightly exhausting, all I wanted was to run into his arms and feel safe there, in the embrace that had always been my place.

But how could I do that when Dick seemed to care more about the city — and his secret vigilante identity — than about his own personal life?

“Okay, you’re very upset,” Dick said calmly. “Let’s take a break, please?” His eyes held a silent request, almost a plea.

That hurt more than it calmed me. Because I didn’t want a break. I wanted to be understood.

“I’m trying to get closer to you, and you’re saying I’m being crazy?” I replied, my voice trembling with someone who was already far too tired.

I know I was exaggerating a little. Maybe more than a little.

“No, love… that’s not it.” His shoulders dropped, as if he were giving up. “You know what? I’ll sleep on the couch. I think you need some time to think.”

He grabbed a pillow and a blanket and walked toward the door.

“Richard, don’t do this,” I asked, irritation mixed with something that almost sounded like fear.

“Don’t be mad at me, my love.” And then he went to the living room.

I didn’t follow him. My pride spoke louder.

Even so, sleeping away from him was a silent torture. The bed felt too big, too cold. All I could think about was how I wished he had stayed. When I started the argument, it was only about wanting more presence. And in the end, he had chosen the couch instead of me.

That hurt.

I was angry, yes. But beneath the anger there was longing. The urge to yell at him, to push him away, to ask him to hold me, kiss me, and tell me he still loved me. Because I missed him, even while we were in the same house.

When I woke up, Dick was still asleep. I took a shower and made his coffee because, despite everything, I still cared. Even upset, even hurt. But I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t give him a kiss. I left in silence, knowing that would hurt too.

Maybe it was immature. Maybe it was just spite. But in that moment, it was all I could manage.

Dick Grayson was going to feel the weight of not having slept with me in our bed that night.

It didn’t take long for my phone to vibrate.

“Wow, my love. Not even a goodbye? Not even a kiss? ):”

I smiled against my will. Dick had always known how to break down my defenses with so little. Even so, I decided not to give in that easily.

I spent the day out, and when I looked for my card inside my wallet, I found his.

My smile came instantly.

I never liked spending my husband’s money. I always felt strange, as if it somehow diminished what we were. As if someone might think I was with him only because he was a millionaire. Dick, on the other hand, always insisted that I buy whatever I wanted, as many bags as I wanted, as many shoes as I felt like having.

Well… maybe it was finally time to do exactly what he insisted on.

⸻

Dick was organizing the paperwork he needed to review when he received a call from his secretary. It was strange. Brayan never called, he usually just sent a message with the day’s agenda.

The alert came immediately. Dick answered with his heart beating a little faster, trying to imagine what could have happened.

“Sir… I think we have a problem,” Brayan said, his voice low, filled with nervousness.

“What happened, Brayan?” Dick leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, already worried.

“Sir, I think your card may have been cloned. Or hacked, I’m not entirely sure… but a purchase of five hundred thousand dollars was just made on it.” Brayan almost whispered the last part, as if it were a dangerous secret.

Dick stayed silent for a few seconds. Thought. And then, suddenly, it clicked — and he laughed.

“Sir… I just told you your card may have been cloned, and you’re laughing?” Brayan asked, clearly confused.

“Brayan,” Dick said, an easy smile in his voice, “it’s just my wife throwing a little tantrum.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Let her buy whatever she wants. The price doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, sir,” Brayan replied, still not fully understanding, before ending the call.

Dick hung up the phone still smiling. If that was her way of releasing her frustration, he would accept it. Deep down, it was just another sign that she still cared. And to him, that was worth more than any number on a bank statement.

Dick picked up his phone again and dialed his wife’s number, a small smile already on his face.

“Yes?” she murmured when she answered.

“Having fun with my card, my love?” Dick asked in a playful tone, as if that were the easiest way to reach her right now.

“Yes, actually. Your card is very useful,” she replied. “I think I should use it more often.”

“Yes, you should.” Dick didn’t mind the faint tone of stubbornness still present in her voice. Strangely, it reassured him.

She hummed in agreement and then added, “I think I just saw a very beautiful Chanel bag.”

“Buy it.” He paused briefly, leaning back in his chair. “Buy a very beautiful dress too. And shoes.” Dick bit his lip, already imagining it. “I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. You deserve an apology.”

“I deserve more than an apology, Richard.”

“Yes, my love. You do,” he answered without hesitation. “And I’ll give you everything you deserve.” Dick smiled. “Now go finish spending your husband’s money. I’m working precisely to make more money for you to spend.”

He fell silent for a few seconds, his eyes naturally landing on the photo of the two of them on his desk — arms wrapped around each other, smiling, as if the world were simple in that frozen moment.

“I love you,” he said in a whisper, low, almost too intimate to say out loud.

“I love you too, Grayson.” There was a small pause. “Bye. I’m going to finish spending your money.” And then she hung up.

Dick just laughed, shaking his head slightly.

He didn’t care.

She could bankrupt him — which was almost impossible — and it still wouldn’t matter. Because in the end, no amount of money was worth more than that smile on the other end of the line.

I’m making my dinner on a typical Friday where I do absolutely nothing. No parties, no dates, no excited messages lighting up my phone. My friends are out, living something that seems important, while I stand still in the kitchen, stirring food on the stove and trying not to think about why I’m alone again.

I don’t know exactly why I’m not doing the same as them. Maybe I do know and just don’t want to admit it. Either way, I decided that tonight would be mine. Home. Couch. Silence.

I plate my food, ready to settle onto the couch, when the doorbell rings. I don’t even have to think. I already know who it is.

I walk to the door and open it.

Dick doesn’t say “hi.” He doesn’t ask how I am. He doesn’t wait to be invited in. He just walks inside, like my place is an extension of his. Like I’m a safe place he can always fall into.

“Hi to you too, big guy. I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I say, letting the sarcasm spill freely into my voice.

“Sorry. How are you?” he asks, stepping closer and pressing a quick kiss to my forehead.

The gesture is simple. Way too intimate.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “What happened to you? Why are you like this?”

We sit down on the couch, side by side, close enough that I can smell him.

“It’s just Barbara…”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. Seriously. What is he still doing with her?

I make a small gesture with my hand, telling him to go on.

“I don’t understand her,” he says, frustration weighing down his voice. “Today she got mad at me because of a joke. It wasn’t even something inappropriate. It wasn’t even about her. I think she was already irritated and took it out on me. I do everything…”

His phone rings.

Dick lets out a short, bitter laugh and turns the screen toward me. “Love,” with a little heart next to it.

My chest tightens.

“Answer it,” I murmur, shrugging, pretending not to care.

He gets up and walks into the kitchen to take the call. I turn the TV volume up just to fill the empty space he left behind. I start eating, but I barely taste anything.

Seriously… what is Dick doing with her?

She doesn’t understand his humor like I do. She doesn’t laugh at the same things, doesn’t get excited over the same stupid stuff, doesn’t know every version of him. I do. I always have. When is he going to realize he belongs with me?

From the living room, I hear his voice getting louder. I can’t make out the words, but I understand the tone. Irritation. Exhaustion. That tension he always brings to me to ease.

I want to scream. Leave her. Stay with me.

But I don’t. I never have. And I won’t start now.

He comes back from the kitchen visibly frustrated, shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“No. I’d rather forget it. I don’t want to think about Barbara right now.”

I nod silently and curl up more on the couch, making space for him without even realizing it.

“So… what are we watching?” Dick asks, sitting down and putting his legs over my lap.

Bold.

“The Vampire Diaries,” I reply, smiling when I see his automatic grimace.

“Seriously? Change this crap.”

“It’s this or nothing,” I raise an eyebrow. He sighs, defeated. “And get your dirty feet off me.” I shove his legs to the floor. “Thanks.”

“Annoying,” he rolls his eyes, but keeps watching.

A few minutes pass in silence until he mutters:

“Seriously, why is Elena still with Damon? Stefan is way better for her. He understands her.”

I laugh softly.

“I thought you didn’t like the show, Dick Grayson.”

“Shut up. I’m watching.”

I laugh again.

“Okay. But look… I kind of agree, but not completely. Stefan and Elena are destiny. And destiny can be boring sometimes. Damon challenges everything she believes in. He gives her adrenaline. She likes that. As much as he’s a jerk — and most of the time, a horrible person — he loves her.”

Dick thinks about it for a few seconds, then nods.

“Yeah… that makes sense. But Stefan is still the better option.”

“No,” I say without thinking. “Stefan is the better option for me. He’s my dream guy.”

Dick makes a disgusted noise. “Wow… I thought I was your dream guy.”

“Not even in your best dreams, Grayson.”

I lightly smack the back of his head.

Lie. He was. He always had been.

But he didn’t need to know that. Not now.

The night passes between episodes, pointless comments, and small teasing. Dick defending Stefan. Me disagreeing just to hear him argue.

It’s in moments like these that I realize when it all started. When I fell in love with him. When loving him stopped being a choice and became a fact.

I don’t remember what time I fell asleep. I only know I wake up with an arm around me and a comfortable weight beneath me.

I’m lying on Dick’s chest, in my bedroom. This has always been common. Normal. Safe.

But now… with Dick dating someone… it feels different. Wrong, maybe. I know his girlfriend wouldn’t like it. I know I should care. But this moment feels too good for me to stop.

I slowly lift my face and find his eyes already open, watching me. Sleepy. Calm. Way too beautiful for someone who isn’t mine.

Sometimes, I wish I could wake up like this every day. For the rest of my life.

“Hey… you’re awake,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head.

“When did you bring me to the bedroom?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“I don’t remember the exact time,” he says. “I just know it was already late.”

“Hm…” I murmur in agreement.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, almost in a whisper. If I weren’t so close, I might not have heard it.

“Best sleep ever,” I reply, trying to keep it light, like my chest isn’t too tight to breathe.

Dick brings his hand up to my cheek and caresses it. The touch is slow, too careful. His hand stays there for far too long for my sanity, for the thin line I pretend doesn’t exist between us. My breathing falters for a second, and I hate how much he notices.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It never is. It’s full. Dense. Loaded with words I don’t have the courage to say and truths he pretends not to see. Maybe it’s more on my side… but I know it’s not just me.

Then Dick blinks a few times, like he’s waking up from something dangerous, and his body changes. The warmth disappears. The closeness retreats. His face hardens into something I recognize immediately.

Guilt.

“I need to talk to Barbara. I need to apologize.” He gets out of bed, pulling completely away from my touch, like the contact itself could give him away.

Of course. Barbara. Always her.

His face is filled with quiet guilt. He knows this is wrong. Even without kisses. Even without promises. Even without words said out loud. He knows. And I know. This space between us isn’t innocent, no matter how much we pretend it is.

“It’s okay. I understand,” I say.

And I really do understand. I understand rationally, like someone accepting a truth they didn’t choose. But understanding doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

When would he be mine? When would he stop choosing the easier path instead of the one that makes him stay?

“I have to go, okay? I’ll come back later.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead. It’s too tender for someone who isn’t mine and too distant for someone I love.

When he leaves the bedroom without saying anything else, I keep staring at the empty space he left behind.

I hear the front door open. Then close.

The sound echoes through the entire house, but it’s inside me that it makes the most noise.

I stay there, lying down, staring at the ceiling, feeling his scent still trapped in the sheets, in the pillow, on me. Like he left pieces of himself behind on purpose, just to make sure I wouldn’t forget.

All I wanted was Dick Grayson to myself. Not for one night. Not as a mistake. Not as a temporary refuge. I wanted to be the choice.

Sometimes I wonder if that will ever happen.

But it feels like such a distant reality that it hurts just to breathe.

The rest of the day passes heavy and slow, like every hour demands more from me than I have to give. My mind doesn’t rest. It keeps going back to the same place: Dick. To the choices I made. To the silent permissions I gave. To everything I let happen while pretending it was harmless.

I think about how wrong this is. About how I’m hurting someone who has no fault in any of this.

Barbara.

I know that most of the time she’s difficult. Annoying, even. But that doesn’t matter. She didn’t choose my feelings. She didn’t ask to exist in this crooked triangle I helped create. In the end, the fault isn’t hers.

It’s mine.

In what I feel for Dick. In the excessive comfort. In the intimacy that goes beyond friendship, even without kisses, even without forbidden words. The line was crossed a long time ago, quietly, disguised as care.

And he knows. I saw it on his face today. In the contained guilt. In the way he pulled away, like he needed to remind himself of who he was supposed to be.

That was what hurt the most.

Because if he feels guilty, then he also understands that what exists between us isn’t innocent.

And I know I can’t keep doing this.

I know I need to put an end to it before it becomes something bigger, before I lose myself completely trying to be a place I don’t belong. I have to learn to love Dick from afar, or maybe slowly unlearn it.

Getting over what I feel for him isn’t a simple choice. It’s a renunciation. One that hurts in my body, in my chest, in the silence of the house.

So I decide on an ending.

When Dick comes to my place again, it’s the next day, not later, like he promised.

They fought again. What a surprise.

We’re sitting on the couch, way too close for two people pretending not to notice. Dick is talking, venting, going in circles through the same complaints as always. I’m listening, but barely hearing him. There’s something trapped inside me, pressing against my chest, begging to come out.

Until I can’t take it anymore. “Dick… we can’t keep doing this.”

He stops mid-sentence. Looks at me, confused.

“Doing what?”

I take a deep breath. One, two. It still hurts.

“This.” I gesture vaguely between us. “You coming here every time things go wrong. Sleeping on my couch. Using me as shelter.”

He frowns. “I’m not using you.”

“I know,” I answer too quickly. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He stays silent, waiting. And I realize that if I don’t say everything now, I never will.

“Don’t you feel guilty?” I ask, my voice low, almost careful.

“Guilty about what?”

“About Barbara.” Her name comes out heavy.

He looks away, runs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to pull himself together. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “You don’t need to kiss me to cheat. You don’t need to sleep with me to cross a line.”

He opens his mouth, but I keep going, because I know if I stop, he’ll find a way to escape.

“You know there’s something here. You always have. And still, you come. You stay. You look for me when she doesn’t understand you.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I know.” My voice breaks. “And that’s exactly why it hurts so much.”

He finally looks at me again. There’s something broken there.

“Every time you sleep here,” I continue, “every time you hug me like it’s the most natural thing in the world… I feel wrong. Like I’m occupying a place that isn’t mine.”

“You’re not occupying any place,” he murmurs.

“But I want to,” I confess, not looking at him. “And that makes me part of the problem.”

The silence stretches, heavy.

“If it were the other way around,” I say, swallowing hard, “if I were dating someone and you were the person who knew me better than anyone, the one I ran to when everything went wrong… would you really be able to pretend it meant nothing?”

It takes him a moment to answer.

“No,” he admits, barely audible.

I nod. “Then you understand.”

He closes his eyes for a second, like that truth finally reached somewhere too deep.

“I saw it today,” I continue. “I saw it on your face. You feel guilty, Dick. You just don’t want to name it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“But you do.” My hands tremble. “It hurts because you leave. It hurts because you choose her. And I stay here… picking up the pieces.”

He takes a deep breath, voice low and restrained. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to stop pretending this doesn’t affect me.” I look at him. “I want to stop being the safe place while you decide what to do with your life.”

He looks caught between pain and fear. “Are you asking me to choose?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m choosing myself.

He swallows.

“I need space,” I say. “Not because I don’t care about you. But because I care too much.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.

“I don’t either,” my voice breaks. “But I’m already losing myself.”

He nods slowly.

“I’ll give you your time,” he says. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” I interrupt with a sad smile. “You’ll always be there. And that’s exactly why I need to step away.”

He stands up, hesitates for a second, like he wants to hug me, and doesn’t.

When the door closes behind him, I know I did the right thing.

When Jason died, I felt myself break from the inside. It wasn’t like something had ended, it was like something had been ripped out of me. I felt like I had lost my soulmate, the only person who truly understood me without me ever having to say a word.

I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t understand it. Why him?

Jason was one of the sweetest boys I had ever known. He was my peace in a world that never gave me rest. In my chaotic, noisy life, Jason was silence. He was the light still on when everything inside me had already gone dark. Whatever I was feeling, he was always there, to calm me down, to hold me together, to keep me from drowning alone.

And then he died. And all that was left was pain. And where was he? Dead.

Jason was dead.

Grief didn’t come right away. It was a coward. It let me believe for far too long that none of it was real. I refused to accept it. I wanted it to be a lie, a mistake, anything but the truth. I couldn’t exist in a world where Jason didn’t exist.

Until one day… the grief came.

And when it did, it didn’t ask for permission.

At first, it was small, almost unnoticeable. Little by little, I began to understand that I would never see Jason walk into a room again, never hear his laugh, never feel his presence telling me everything would be okay, even when it wasn’t.

I remember the first time I cried over his death. Until then, I hadn’t cried at all. Because crying meant admitting that he was really gone.

I was cleaning my room when I found a polaroid of us. “Best friends forever,” it said beneath the picture. Jason was kissing my cheek, and I was smiling like the world couldn’t touch us.

That photo had been taken a few months before he left. He handed it to me with a smile, asking me to keep it safe, as if he somehow knew that one day it would be all I had left of him.

On the back, it read:

“Forever yours, Jason.”

I stared at that photo for minutes that stretched into hours. My chest started to hurt in a way I had never felt before. And then I cried.

I cried because I finally understood. Jason wasn’t coming back.

Jason was dead.

That was the first time.

The second time… the second time almost killed me.

I went to Wayne Manor to see Dick. I was desperate for comfort, anyone would do. I needed to talk to someone, because the one person who always listened to me didn’t exist anymore.

Alfred told me Dick was with Bruce in the cave. I decided to go down there.

It’s a decision I regret to this day.

They were watching the footage from the day Jason died. The explosion. The Joker’s voice. Jason tied up, beaten, completely helpless in that damn chair.

I felt something inside me shatter all at once.

After that, everything became a blur. All I remember is crying. Crying so hard it felt like my lungs were going to give out. Crying like my body was trying to expel the pain, and failing miserably.

Dick held me tightly, like he could keep me in one piece by force. Like he could glue me back together.

But it didn’t help.

The only person who could have made the pain stop… was Jason.

And he was dead.

After that, grief became unbearable. I spent weeks without wanting to eat, without wanting to drink, without wanting to exist. I just wanted the pain to end. But how could it, when the cause of it could never come back?

He wasn’t there anymore.

I came back slowly, almost against my will. First, I managed to say his name without breaking down. Then I could remember the happy moments without wanting to die with him.

Until one day I could finally face his things. The photos. The clothes. His hoodies still smelled like him, and that hurt more than any memory ever could.

Over time, talking about Jason stopped being an open wound. It still hurt, but it didn’t bleed all the time.

It never stopped hurting.

And whenever it hurt too much, I wrote him letters. As if putting my suffering on paper could make my chest feel lighter. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it destroyed me even more.

And that’s how I ended up here.

Today marks five years since Jason died. I’m sitting at the table with a pen in my hand, a blank sheet of paper in front of me, and the box of letters beside me too many letters for someone who never answered a single one.

I never know how to begin. But once I do, everything flows. Just like it did when he was still here.

“Dear Jason,

Today was unbearable. Seriously… why did you have to die?

Work destroyed me. Everything destroys me when you’re not here.

I’m writing to you from my bed. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I thought about going to the cemetery today, but it didn’t feel right to visit knowing you’re not really there.

Missing you never goes away, Jay. It’s like Dick, always persistent, always reminding me that you were part of my life. He used to say we’d end up falling in love. I laughed. I lied.

Because the truth is, I was already completely in love with you. And you died without ever knowing.

When this time of year comes around, I reread all your favorite books, trying to find some piece of you still alive inside them.

On page seventy of your favorite book, I finally understood you. Love is fire. And it burns even when no one sees it.

How are you doing up there, Jay?

It’s been so long since I’ve heard anything from you. Everyone moved on, except me. I’m still here, writing letters whenever it hurts too much to miss you.

I imagine you impressing the angels with that laugh that used to make me forget the world.

Dick is almost married. Bruce is still distant. Alfred misses you, he doesn’t say it, but I see it in his eyes.

I bought my own house. I wish you were here to complain about the decor.

I miss you.

I will always love you.”

I dropped the pen. I couldn’t write anything else.

My heart ached as if invisible hands were squeezing it tight.

But in the middle of the pain, there was a small sense of peace, the idea that maybe Jason was finally at peace too.

Outside, from the top of a building, Jason watched through the window.

The most human part of him, in this journey of vengeance… was you.

Because all he wanted was to come back, to hold you, to calm you down, and to tell you he was alive.

He knew that day marked the anniversary of his own death.

And all he wanted… was to be with you.

But he couldn’t.

I was scrolling through TikTok’s For You page when I came across a video from the trend “seeing if he melts with a kiss,” and instantly, I wanted to try it with Dick.

I was watching TV when he finally got home.

“Babe, I’m home. I brought what you asked for” Dick said as he opened the door.

I immediately got excited and stood up from the couch to go to him.

“Hey, baby. I missed you.”

Dick dropped the grocery bags on the floor and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“I missed you too.” He pressed a light kiss to my forehead, and I smiled.

“Hey, I wanna do something with you… wait!” I turned and jogged over to the couch to grab my phone.

“What?” I looked at him as he pouted.

“I just wanted to kiss my wife.”

“You will, big guy” I laughed at his expression while positioning my phone to frame the two of us and started recording.

“Okay, babe. I need you to raise your arms.”

“Why?”

Dick looked confused but did what I asked. He raised his arms and smiled.

“Like this?”

I didn’t answer. I just stepped closer, smiling, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him softly on the lips.

His hands immediately went to my waist, pulling me closer. Dick deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to my neck, and I smiled against his lips.

“Hey… don’t stop” he murmured. “I missed you” he added, making a sad puppy expression.

“You were only away from me for five hours, Grayson” I teased.

“Five hours without you feels illegal” he said, pretending to be serious before smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you more, babe”.

It’s been six months since everything happened, since Dick shattered my heart into a thousand pieces. I never thought he could do that.

He was always my best friend, my golden boy. How could he?

But then I found out the reason. And that’s when he destroyed my heart a thousand times more.

Fuck. A fucking girl.

That’s why he didn’t want a serious relationship with me. My heart was his, but his heart belonged to someone else. And what could I do? Force him to love me? There was no way. I just had to accept it.

I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when a photo of him and her appeared. He was holding her, smiling like she was his entire world.

That’s when I understood. I understood that he was never meant to be mine.

I have never cried as much as I cried that night. My sobs echoed through the entire room. It hurt so much it felt like I was going to die.

Why me?

Christmas, which used to feel so warm, now feels so cold. There are Christmas decorations everywhere, red and green. But I feel so blue it’s almost comical.

I remember a time when we talked. Everything was so intimate. So beautiful.

“You know, even though I almost always think I know everything, sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything,” Dick says, rambling as he rests his head on the couch. He looks thoughtful.

“What do you mean?”

“When I was Robin, there was a time when it didn’t feel like me anymore. So I had to rediscover myself until I became Nightwing. Sometimes I still feel that way.” He looks at me.

“So you think you still need to rediscover yourself?”

“Yeah… something like that. But being with you makes everything feel easier. I feel like myself. Like nothing else matters.”

My heart stopped. My breathing became unsteady.

I loved him.

I ran my fingers through his hair and let my hand slide down to his cheek, leaving it there.

“I don’t have many certainties in my life, Dick. But one thing I know for sure is that I love you.”

He smiled and kissed me. And in that moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

Tell me… while you were rediscovering yourself, did you find someone better?

Did you find her?

But did you have to break my heart in the process?

Didn’t I make you happy the way she did? That’s the only explanation.

But tell me… how?

I was running through the house laughing while Dick tried to catch me.

“Come on, you know that if I really want to catch you, I will,” he says, laughing as he crosses his arms.

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms too. “I doubt it.”

Before I even had the chance to run, Dick had already jumped over the couch and caught me. He grabbed me and started covering my face with kisses.

All I could do was laugh.

“You make me so happy,” he said, looking at me with tenderness.

“You have no idea how happy you make me too, Grayson,” I said, wrapping my hands around his neck and leaning closer.

He kissed me without thinking twice. All I could feel was love.

“I love you,” he said.

I think about our last Christmas, at the Wayne family house. That was the only place where you were the same with me.

Is she there with you now? Just like I was last Christmas?

I put a Santa hat on Damian’s head. He wasn’t happy about it at all, but he kept it on anyway.

“I’m only keeping this on because it’s Christmas.”

I laughed and pinched his nose. “I know, Dami.”

I felt hands on my waist, pulling me back. I turned instantly, already knowing who it was. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy too, Dick,” I said, placing my hand on his chest.

He kissed my forehead, and I heard a gagging sound beside me.

“You two are so gross,” Tim said teasingly.

I just laughed and kissed Dick’s cheek. I was so happy.

Now I feel like throwing up.

I feel like crying when I imagine the two of them kissing in front of the Christmas tree. His brothers welcoming her the way they welcomed me.

I don’t know when everything ended. I only know that one day there was something… and the next, there was nothing.

But I know exactly when it began.

We never dated. He never called me his girlfriend, never made it official, never claimed anything. But to me, we were there. Because what we had was something. It had to be.

Friends don’t hold each other after having sex. Friends don’t promise they’ll never leave. Friends don’t look at each other like the whole world lives inside the other.

Friends don’t say “I love you”, not the way we said it to each other.

But I should have known. God, I should have known and it hurts like hell to admit that I didn’t.

He was never mine.

When did you become so cold to me?

“We need to talk,” I said to Dick, who was sitting beside me.

He looked confused, but not surprised. Deep down, he had always known this moment would come.

He nodded in silence. A quiet go on without the courage to really listen.

“What are we, Richard?” My voice came out tired, but honest. “Some days you want all of me. Other days you act like I’m nothing. I have feelings. I exist. What do you want from me?”

He took a breath. “I never said we were anything. We’re friends, right?”

That’s where I broke.

Yes. Friends. Of course. Just fucking friends.

“Friends don’t do what we do,” I said, my throat tightening. “Friends don’t make promises. Friends don’t have sex. Friends don’t make me believe I’m everything.”

“I never said we were a couple.” He couldn’t look me in the eyes.

Coward. Maybe ashamed. Maybe just too comfortable to care.

That’s when my heart shattered. Quietly. Silently. Into a thousand pieces.

“Leave,” I whispered.

If I said it louder, I would fall apart.

“Don’t do this…” he said quickly. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought we were on the same page.”

Of course he did. It was easy for him. He got everything without having to take responsibility.

“LEAVE!” I screamed, finally crying, finally breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing my forehead like he still had that right.

Then he walked away. And only then did I understand. I understood every time I tried to hold his hand in public and he pulled away.

Every time I tried to talk about the future and he changed the subject. Every time I fought alone for something that only existed for me.

I realized I was the only one in a relationship.

He was just comfortable. And maybe it could have been beautiful. Maybe it could have been love.