Dick Grayson’s jaw tightened when his eyes fell on the sign.

It was hard to ignore—the neon glow of psychedelic pink illuminated the room, casting strange shadows that danced across the walls. The cursive letters seemed to flicker and hum, buzzing faintly, almost as if they were mocking him. The words Room You Can’t Leave Without Kissing were written in an absurd, playful script, but there was nothing lighthearted about this.

He exhaled sharply, the sound of his teeth grinding audible in the stillness. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, muscles coiling like a predator ready to pounce. If the mastermind behind this ridiculous trap were standing in front of him, Dick was certain they’d be eating through a straw for the next few months.

But the worst part—the part that twisted like a knife in his ribs—wasn’t the sign.

It was you.

You.

His little sister—the one he’d watched grow from a timid, delicate bud into a young woman. You were everything he’d sworn to protect, full of life and light in a world that could be anything but. You were the one who laughed too loudly and loved too openly, the one who had a spirit that could lift him out of the darkest days, the one who had once clung to his hand with sticky fingers, who had giggled at his bad jokes, who had looked at him with a kind of trust so absolute it was terrifying.

He had protected you from scraped knees, from bullies, from the nightmares that lurked in the shadows of Gotham. And now, somehow, he had to protect you from this. And now—now, he was here with you, stuck in a room, trapped by a sign that felt more like a cruel joke.

He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing on his chest. It was suffocating, because how could he protect you in a situation like this? His mind raced for answers, but the tension in the air only grew thicker, thicker still with every passing second.

What was he supposed to do?

What could he do?