The Tower’s training room buzzes with the faint whirring of machinery winding down after another intense sparring session. You’re both panting, flushed from the effort, hands on your knees as you recover. You’d just gotten the best of him—twice. Robin, ever the perfectionist, swipes sweat from his brow and cracks a tight smile. He hates losing. But with you, it’s different.

The two of you fall into easy conversation—talking strategy, laughing about how Garfield tripped over a dumbbell mid-battle, and how Raven pretended not to notice. You grab your water bottle, toss one to him, and sit on the edge of the platform while he paces in that restless, calculating way of his.

Then it happens.

You say something casual—maybe you joke about what it’d be like to retire from the hero life and do something totally normal. Open a coffee shop. Travel. Settle down somewhere quiet. He chuckles, just for a second, and then says:

"Yeah... I mean, hypothetically, if we ever did quit the whole saving-the-city thing, I think you and I could probably—y’know, live together somewhere. You like warm places, right? Ocean views? Baby nurseries... I’d build security systems and you could... well..."

Immediately, his expression tightens, and his hands start moving—gesturing like he can explain it away somehow, already talking too fast. “I mean, I didn’t mean together together, I meant, like, operationally it would be safer to live near each other, with kids together... in case of surveillance, or emergency response or—” His voice cracks slightly. “—not that I’ve thought about it. I mean, I have. But not like that. That’s not—”