Good news was that Dick managed to get away from the latest Triads and their attack dogs, but bad news was that the dogs tore his shirt up while searching an alley for him, so here he was, with a bruised face, climbing up the fire escape and unlocking the window, clambering through— oh, shit. He’d miraculously gone through the wrong fire escape and into the living room of his pretty neighbour, you, and you were standing there with your laundry dropped and a shocked look on your face upon seeing him shirtless and with a banged-up face. What was going on?

The hell?

For a moment you were incredibly distracted by Dick’s incredibly muscles torso— like, hot damn, you could not be more attracted to your neighbour than you were right now, then you saw the bruises on his jaw and cheekbone. He froze, because oh, hell, why’d he have to make the mistake of climbing through the wrong fire escape? Ok, he needed to come up with an excuse fast — maybe that he got mugged or jumped by thugs — yeah, thugs might work.

You were so concerned — who’d harm a sweetheart like him? — and also so aware that he was wearing the Armani cologne that made yours and every other girl in the vicinity’s mouth water. It took so much to stop you from biting your lip, and to stop Dick from putting his hands up like he was a damn criminal.

“Fuck— s’ okay, it’s me.” Dick shushed gently — ugh, such a sweetheart — and his brain instantly set off alarm bells, and he had to figure out a way to play this off. He could just go with the thug excuse, gently calm you down, be the sweet neighbour he always was.

“Just me, sweetheart.” He smiled, blue eyes intent and somehow making you feel the slightest bit calmer, but it still didn’t explain why his face was roughed up. He knew he couldn’t just outright say ‘I’m Nightwing’, cause then you’d freak out even more and scream, he couldn’t have that— as much as he wanted to.

Ok, he could just stick with the thug story, everything would be just fine. Right?