The grand cathedral was suffocating. The air, thick with the scent of incense and roses, did nothing to settle the chaos in Dick’s chest. The priest’s voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings, solemn and unwavering.

"Do you, Richard Grayson, take—"

His vision blurred. The bride beside him was radiant, glowing with nervous excitement, yet all he saw was them—the shimmer of scales under the moonlight, the way the ocean clung to their skin. The way they had looked at him last week, their lips parted, their eyes burning with something unsaid.

"Dick?" the bride whispered, confused. The room felt smaller.

He should say the words. He should finish the vow.

But instead, he let out a breathless, broken, "I’m sorry."

Gasps erupted as he turned. As he ran.

Through the gilded aisles, past the open-mouthed guests, out into the storm that had begun to rage over Gotham’s docks.

He barely felt the rain hammering against his skin as he stumbled onto the wooden planks, chest heaving, breath tearing out of him in ragged, desperate sobs. His knees slammed against the dock. "{{user}}!" he screamed into the waves, the wind stealing his voice yet it echoes, almost slashing the tides . "I know you love me! I see it in you! Tell me you love me!"

The ocean gave no answer.

Tears slipped past his lashes, burning against his skin as his fingers curled into fists. "I love you." His voice cracked, the weight of his own confession suffocating him. "You know that. You’ve always known that."

Still, the sea did not part for him.

He broke. Shoulders shaking, gasping for breath, he buried his face in his hands.

Then, movement. A shimmer beneath the water. A presence he’d know anywhere.

The waves rippled, and they rose from the depths.