The rain slid down his mask, blurring the neon lights of Gotham below. His breath came fast, chest rising and falling, heart still pounding from the fight—not the one with the criminals. The one with you.

You stood across from him, perched effortlessly on the rusted edge of a water tower, arms crossed over your chest. You didn’t even look winded. You never did.

“You were reckless,”

Nightwing snapped, forcing himself to steady his voice.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“You nearly got yourself killed.”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like you hadn’t just thrown yourself headfirst into danger with that same cocky, fearless attitude that drove him insane.

You made his blood boil. None of this was a game. He had seen what Gotham did to people who thought they were untouchable.

He had lost too much to watch you make the same mistake.

“You can’t keep pulling stunts like that.”

His voice was lower now, rougher, the frustration bleeding through.

“One day, you won’t be fast enough.”