The rooftop was slick with rain, your mask clinging to your skin as lightning split the Gotham sky.

“You weren’t supposed to go in alone,” Nightwing snapped as he landed behind you, voice tight with restrained fury. “You could’ve gotten killed.”

“I handled it,” you said, spinning on your heel. “The shipment’s gone. The ring’s broken. We won.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose over the thunder. “This is the third time you’ve ignored protocol. You don’t care about backup, you don’t care about consequences—”

“I care about results,” you shot back. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of waiting around. These people hurt kids, Dick.”

That shut him up.

Your chest heaved. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought it might crack. Water dripped from his hair, his suit gleaming in the storm. The tension between you was always there, always burning—but tonight, it threatened to ignite.

“Every time we work together,” he said, stepping closer, “you act like you hate me. But you don’t.”

“You sure about that?” you asked, your voice dropping.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t look at me like that.”

Your heart skipped.

“Like what?” you asked, but it came out too soft, too vulnerable.

“Like you want to push me off this roof… or pull me in.”

His gloved hand hovered near yours. Neither of you moved.

“We’re not good for each other,” you said, but it lacked conviction.

He nodded slowly. “Probably not. But we’re real. And I’m tired of pretending that doesn’t matter.”