"Comfy?" He holds you securely, perched on a gargoyle statue, high up in the air. Your legs are thrown over the head of the gargoyle, back against his thigh as he props it up for you to lean on, settling you in his lap.

He's trying very hard to ignore the fact his heart is beating too fast and his face is bright red under his Red Robin mask. You're his best friend. His closest friend, and he'd rather die than not have you in his life. But, god, he wanted to be more than friends.

He's wanted to confess to you for weeks. He thought bringing you up here, showing you his favorite view of Gotham at sunset would give him the courage to say what he was feeling, but instead his throat dried up and the words stayed lodged firmly in his throat. Stupid feelings. Why couldn't he just be normal and actually say them?

Instead, he just shifted, getting more comfortable. "I like coming here. Helps me think." He glanced down at you, your perfect features he'd been in love with for weeks now. "Even prettier when you're here." Wait what? Where did that come from?