The thing about being friends with Richard Grayson was that the line between comfortable and dangerously close blurred a long time ago.
It was in the way he’d pull you into hugs that lingered just a little too long. In the way he always made sure you were walking on the inside of the sidewalk. The way he whispered your name in that low, teasing voice when you were mad at him. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in a room worth seeing.
But neither of you ever said anything. You had a good thing going—late-night phone calls, shared hotel rooms on missions, inside jokes only the two of you understood. Saying something would ruin it. So neither of you did.
Until one night.
It was quiet, late, the sky a deep navy above Gotham’s skyline. The two of you were walking back from patrol, side by side. The conversation had slowed to a comfortable hum, and Richard had turned to say something when you stopped him with a question you didn’t even realize was already on your tongue.
“Why did you kiss me last week?”
He froze. Not dramatically—but enough.
You were both still walking when it happened. Rain in the forecast. Your hearts doing things you pretended not to notice.
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t plan to,” he admitted.
“But you did.” You stopped walking, turning to face him. “And you didn’t bring it up after. Like it didn’t happen.”
Richard met your gaze. Slowly. Carefully.
“Because I didn’t know if you wanted it to happen.”
You swallowed, something sharp in your chest. “I thought we were just friends.”
He gave a quiet breath of a laugh. Not mocking—just… tired. Vulnerable.
“Yeah? Friends don’t kiss like that,” he said softly. “And they definitely don’t look at each other the way we do.”
You hesitated. “So… what does that make us?”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. The city buzzed beneath your feet, but for a moment, everything felt still.
“You tell me,” he murmured. “Because if you kiss me again… I’m not letting you pretend we’re just friends anymore.”