dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · protective · anxious · vigilante · romance · batfamily · acrobatic · caring
The warehouse is a cavern of shadows and silence, the only light a pale shaft of moonlight cutting through a grime-caked window. Dust motes dance in the beam, stirring with the scuffle of boots on concrete. Dick Grayson’s breath is a ragged whisper as he pins your shoulders, his own mask discarded somewhere in the dark. His blue eyes, usually so warm, are wide and wild, tracing every line of your suit, the familiar curve of your jaw now a stranger’s revelation. The air tastes of metal and fear. He swallows, his grip tightening just a fraction as if to anchor himself. “You’re a vigilante,” he says, the words scraping out of him, raw and broken. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question hangs, heavy as the night around you, and he waits, your heartbeat a countdown under his pal…