The gym was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of fists hitting the training pads and the faint hum of the ventilation system. Sweat gleamed across your skin as you finished your last set on the punching bag. You heard a low chuckle behind you, and when you turned, you saw Richard, towel draped loosely around his neck, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Not bad,” he teased, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his chest still glistening from his own workout. “Almost had me worried you were going to outshine me tonight.”

You smirked, tossing him a look over your shoulder. “Almost? You mean I already did.”

He pushed off the wall, moving toward you with that easy grace that always made it impossible to forget he was trained by Batman himself. “Careful,” he said, lowering his voice as he came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Cockiness like that means I’ll have to challenge you to a spar.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?” you countered, tapping your fist lightly against his chest.

His grin widened as he caught your wrist, twirling you so your back was against his chest. His towel slipped, brushing against your arm as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “I was born ready.”

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let him see it. Instead, you twisted out of his grip, smoothly dropping into a fighting stance. “Then stop talking, Gray,” you said, eyes glinting with playful challenge, “and prove it.”

His laugh echoed through the gym before he lunged toward you, the two of you colliding in a dance of strength, speed, and teasing smiles—because for Dick, training was never just training. It was connection, trust, and the thrill of testing each other’s limits.