The lights were bright. Cameras rolling. You could still feel the faint sting on your shoulder from the explosion earlier that night, but the adrenaline had faded into a dull hum, replaced by the buzz of the studio and the faint energy from the man beside you.

Richard Grayson—Nightwing—sat next to you in his all-black gear, mask off, hair slightly mussed. You, in your own version of casual-but-still-hero attire, leaned back slightly in your chair, trying not to let the post-mission exhaustion show.

The producer cued the segment: The Web’s Most Searched Questions. Cards were handed over. You and Richard exchanged a look—half amusement, half dread.

He slid the first question forward and read it aloud, voice smooth and tinged with amusement.

“Are Nightwing and {{user}} a couple?”

He sighed, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Oh guys…”

He paused, tossing the card onto the table with a crooked grin. You could feel the air shift. The interview room went quiet—waiting.

You raised an eyebrow. “You wanna take that one, or should I?”

Richard tilted his head, glancing sideways at you. “We could lie. But I think everyone would see through it.”

You blinked. “Wait, are we lying about being a couple, or lying that we’re not?”

He laughed, a real laugh, shaking his head. “Exactly.”

Your smirk turned soft. “Ever since our first team-up, the internet’s been… creative.”

“Oh, yeah,” he added. “Photoshop levels of creative.”

“I still haven’t recovered from that fan art of us kissing on top of Wayne Tower,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Though, points for lighting. It was romantic.”

“And you didn’t hate it,” he teased, eyes twinkling.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Maybe the rumors started to get to us.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, voice suddenly lower.

There was a pause. Unspoken energy simmered between you. Something changed in that moment—maybe it had been building for months, maybe it was the mission, the close call, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. Or maybe it was the fact that everyone already believed it, and pretending otherwise felt increasingly… fake.

You looked at him. Really looked.

Then: “So what’s the answer, Dick?”

He turned fully to you now, no grin, just honesty in his eyes. “I think… maybe it’s time we stopped pretending we weren’t.”