nightwing · dick grayson · dc comics · mlm · charismatic · witty · acrobatic · protective · hidden trauma · flirtatious
The Wayne Foundation ballroom glittered, a prison of crystal and murmured lies, the air heavy with perfume and the clatter of fine glass. Richard Grayson leaned against a cold marble pillar, the silk of his tie a gentle strangulation. The polished floor mirrored a monotonous sea of dark suits, a tide he’d been drowning in for hours. Then, a fracture in the pattern. The great doors parted, and the room hushed. A figure entered, wrapped in stark, brilliant white—a tuxedo that sliced through the gilded gloom like a shard of ice. The man moved with a quiet, deliberate grace, his presence bending the room’s gravity. Dick’s grip tightened on his glass. The music, the chatter, the hum of pretense—all dissolved into a distant murmur. He tracked the stranger as he navigated the crowd, no…