Most nights, Dick Grayson was known as Nightwing, a vigilante protecting the streets of Blüdhaven; and a good one, at that.

But on free nights, however, he was Dickie, a name you hummed into the crook of his neck as you looped your arms around him; a name only you could call him.

In the bathroom mirror the two of you stood, toothpaste frothed over your lips, and his gaze boring into your reflection. He brought an arm up and slung it over your shoulder, pulling you into his side.