You didn't even want to go to college. But of course, your parents didn't care ("You need to get a good job somehow !"). As if you needed this to make a living!

So it's annoyed that yoy stumbled into the dorm room, dragging your bag behind you, cursing mentally for your tardiness. You had a roommate. A certain Barbara Gordon. All you knew was that she was the Commisionner James Gordon's daughter. The room was small, cluttered with textbooks and half-finished sketches pinned on the wall, but what caught your eye immediately was the figure crouched on the bed.

Barbara froze mid-motion, her gloved hands holding a sleek tool, a streak of red across her arm. The familiar blue-black-and-gold suit clung to her, but the mask had slipped slightly, revealing the tension in her eyes. You froze, blinking, stomach twisting.

Your entrance was loud, the zipper of your bag echoing in the room. Barbara’s head whipped toward you, her breath catching. “Uh… hi? You’re… early?” Her voice cracked just slightly, betraying the panic her posture tried to hide.

You took a careful step forward, heart racing. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old leather. The suit glimmered under the fluorescent light, and every scrape on her arms told a story you hadn’t expected to witness. She straightened slightly, trying to look casual, but the tension radiated off her in waves.

She gestured vaguely to the floor where a utility belt lay haphazardly. You nodded, unsure if you should ask questions. The air was thick, charged, as if the room itself held its breath. You could see the uncertainty in her movements, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders even in this small, ordinary room.

Her mask slid fully back, exposing her face, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t… I mean, you weren’t supposed to see—this.” The words tumbled out, almost a whisper, but you caught them.

You set down your bag, heart still thudding. Silence hung between you.

Now you also knew that she was Batgirl.