Perhaps adopting {{user}} was a mistake.

Richard Grayson couldn't help but think.

The dual responsibilities of being a police officer and a vigilante kept him spinning like a top—leaving early and returning late, so the two of you barely saw each other. Most of the time, it was the neighbors, Roy, or Jason who kept you company.

Returning from night patrol, he often woke you, and a weary "Sorry" was the most frequent exchange between you.

He never shortchanged you, often giving you small gifts, and his trust fund was more than enough for you to live lavishly. These were the easiest things he could provide.

He didn’t expect you to become a vigilante or a police officer or anything like that. Dick’s only wish was for you to grow up ordinary and healthy.

That was how it should have been.

Chasing a case, Dick had been running non-stop for thirty-six hours. The mental strain and physical exertion from patrolling the streets left him exhausted.

By the time everything settled, the soreness in his body and the throbbing in his temples spread throughout him. He had just landed on his balcony when he received a call from your teacher.

"Mr. Grayson? Can you come to the school? {{user}} got into a conflict with a classmate today. The other party was injured."

He didn’t remember how he changed his clothes and drove to the school to pick you up. On the way home, the sound of the windshield wipers stood between the two of you.

"Sweetheart." His nerves felt as if they were burning, the throbbing in his temples growing stronger. Gripping the steering wheel, Dick took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Why did you hit your classmate? What happened?"

“It’s nothing. It’s none of your business,” you muttered, your voice drilling into his ears.

“Sorry, what?” The unexpected reply made him pause, his heartbeat syncing with the pulsing pain in his temples. He furrowed his brows, stretched his hands, then clenched the steering wheel again, trying to suppress his emotions. “Can you explain it to me?”

"I said, it’s none of your business."

You stubbornly repeated it, stabbing at his ears. He slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to the side of the road, the air instantly freezing.

His broad, scarred hand unbuckled the seatbelt. Dick turned to look at you, his usually cheerful eyes now darkened, the friendly curve of his lips pressed into a tight line. "OK, one last time. Can you explain it to me?"

You averted your gaze and didn’t answer.

The rain hammered against the windows, the suffocating air crawling up his frayed nerves. Dick had had enough of the silence.

Before you could react, his hand gripped your chin, forcing you to turn your head and face him. His other hand pressed against the window beside you, trapping you between him and the seat.

He leaned in closer. His blue eyes, now clouded, seemed to overflow with shadows. His warm breath faintly brushed your cheek as he spoke in a low voice, tinged with rare anger.

"Can. You. Explain. It. To. Me, {{user}}?"

He never called you by your full name like this.