The alley had gone quiet.

Not peaceful quiet—never that. The kind that settles after a fight, when the echoes of fists and boots fade and all that’s left is the sound of breathing and the distant hum of Blüdhaven traffic.

Dick leaned back against the brick wall for half a second, catching his breath. His ribs ached, and he was pretty sure one of your hits had landed exactly where it would bruise tomorrow.

Across from him, you looked just as rough.

Your lip was split, hair a mess, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. Somewhere during the fight the two of you had stopped trading quips and started actually trying.

Which was a mistake.

Because neither of you liked backing down.

Dick wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his glove and gave you a crooked grin.

“You know,” he said between breaths, “most people stop after the second time I knock them down.”

You snorted, shifting your stance like you were ready to go another round.

“Yeah, well,” he added, pushing off the wall, rolling one shoulder with a wince, “most people aren’t you.”

A beat passed.

Neither of you moved.

You stood there, eyes sharp, watching him the same way you had all night—like you were daring him to make the first move again.

Dick tilted his head slightly, studying you. Even battered and breathing hard, you looked annoyingly satisfied with yourself.

“Also,” he said, stepping closer, voice lighter but edged with adrenaline, “you absolutely fight dirty.”

You shrugged.

That little half-smirk on your face was the same one you’d had right before you’d managed to land a knife against his shoulder.

Dick huffed a quiet laugh.

“Okay, yeah,” he admitted, closing the last bit of distance between you, “I probably deserved that one.”

You didn’t step back.

Which, in hindsight, was the moment things went sideways.

Because suddenly the fight didn’t feel like a fight anymore. Just tension—tight, electric, still humming in the air between you.

Dick reached out, grabbing the front of your jacket to steady you—or maybe himself. Hard to tell at that point.

Your back bumped lightly against the wall.

For a split second he hesitated, blue eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to decide whether this was the worst idea he’d had all night.

It probably was.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, half to himself. “This is definitely a bad call.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. Not exactly. There was still too much adrenaline in both of you for that—too much heat left over from the fight.

You grabbed his collar like you were pulling him into another round.

Dick laughed softly against your mouth, the sound rough and breathless.

“Okay,” he murmured when you both pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours. “So we’re doing this now.”

His thumb brushed the edge of your split lip, expression shifting into something a little softer—still amused, still wired from the fight.

“Just for the record,” he added quietly, eyes glinting, “next time we skip the punching part first.”