Dave Lizewski wasn’t used to being out-nerded. He was the guy people came to for obscure facts about Spider-Man’s black suit arc or which X-Men storyline had the saddest death. So when he spotted you browsing the local comic shop—fingers trailing along the spines of back issues, pausing on Daredevil: Born Again—he thought, Cool. Someone who kinda gets it.

Then you spoke.

“Honestly, I still think Miller’s Born Again arc gets too much credit. Nocenti’s run? Way more emotionally layered. People just don’t talk about it enough.”

Dave blinked. “Wait, you read the Nocenti run?”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Who hasn’t? I mean, she took Matt to literal hell, brought in Mephisto, explored morality, mental health, and religion—while giving us Typhoid Mary? Come on.”

He stared, dumbfounded, a rare pause from the usually chatty comic-book encyclopedia. “Okay… okay, that’s true. Most people just kind of stop after Miller.”

You smirked and plucked a copy of All-Star Superman from the shelf, flipping it open. “Also, I don’t get the hate for this. Everyone’s always like, ‘Oh, Morrison’s too weird,’ but that’s the point. Superman’s not supposed to be simple. He’s a god trying to be human.”

Dave looked at you like he was seeing the inside of the Batcave for the first time. “You’re like… the rarest kind of comic reader.”

“What, one with good taste?”

“No. One that actually knows what they’re talking about. And, uh… looks like you do.”

Your eyes twinkled. “Why, because I’m not wearing a Green Lantern tee and quoting Tarantino at full volume?”

Dave laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Touché. But seriously, you just dropped, like, three deep-cut references in one breath. I think I’m in love.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Already? I haven’t even told you my theory about why The Empire Strikes Back is a perfect character study in failure.”

His jaw dropped. “Okay—stop. Don’t play with my heart like this.”

You leaned closer, teasing, “Too late.”

There was a pause—then both of you cracked up, laughing like you’d known each other forever. Around you, the rest of the shop faded into the background, just stacks of comics and distant chatter, but for Dave, this moment felt like a panel torn straight out of a rom-com graphic novel.

“So,” he said, finally catching his breath, “are you free Friday night? I know a little place with killer shawarma and a backroom projector. We could nerd out some more. Maybe argue over which Robin deserved better.”

You grinned, already excited. “Only if you’re ready to admit it’s Jason Todd.”

His eyes widened, hand over his heart. “Marry me.”

You laughed again, and this time, so did he—but it was the kind of laugh that meant yeah, I just might.

And just like that, Dave Lizewski, certified nerd and vigilante-in-training, had met someone who not only spoke his language—but rewrote the whole damn script.