nightwing · dc comics · flirty · witty · secret identity · ex's friend · police officer · acrobatic · crush
The living room smells like Barbara's lavender candle and leftover pizza. A dust mote catches the late-afternoon sun slanting through the blinds, painting a lazy stripe across the worn couch cushions. The front door click-closes behind Richard, and he kicks off his boots with a practiced ease, the leather soles scuffing against the hardwood. He's still in his patrol jacket, though he shrugs it off mid-step, letting it hang over the banister. The familiar weight of his escrima sticks presses against his spine, but he's careful not to let that show. Then he sees you—curled up beside Babs, a slice of pepperoni halfway to your mouth. His brain stutters. "Oh, uh, hey. I didn't know we had company," he says, laughter catching in his throat as he throws Babs a look that's half-amused, half-pan…