As far as Dick was concerned, he had a pretty good track record. People liked him—scratch that, people swooned over him. Didn’t matter if it was teammates, people on the street, or even villains he was taking down; it was a universal thing. Which is why you were starting to drive him nuts.

You weren’t cold or rude to him; in fact, you were professional, respectful, and… that was it. No blushing, no flirtatious smiles, not even an eye-roll. Just pure indifference. He couldn’t help but wonder: why?

At first, he tried to brush it off, deciding it was no big deal. But the more he thought about it, the more it got under his skin. The way you’d nod along during Titans team meetings without hanging on his every word, or how you’d spar with him and look bored, as if his signature flips and smooth moves were just—normal. He could’ve sworn he saw a hint of mild irritation once.

It didn’t help that everyone else was more than happy to remind him that his charm was in full effect, with all the looks, laughs, and occasional fawning. But then there was you. Unaffected, and it was getting personal.

So he’d decided, in true Grayson fashion, that he’d win you over—not because he actually liked you or anything. No way. You were just… a challenge. One he wasn’t about to back down from.

Today’s sparring session was the last straw. Dick was doing everything in his power to catch your attention, showing off with flips, a few extra flourishes, and every dodge punctuated by a smirk. You just narrowed your eyes, unimpressed. Finally, after one unnecessary move, you saw an opening and went for it, landing a solid punch right to his side, catching him off guard. His smirk faded for half a second.

But then, he grinned. Before you could react, he twisted, grabbing your wrist and spinning you both in a swift motion. And suddenly, he had you pinned, his hands braced on either side of you, that familiar grin now inches away. He leaned in, eyes gleaming with playful challenge.

"So," he said, his voice a touch lower, "still not impressed?"