The Tower was never quiet for long. Between sparring sessions, training drills, and impromptu pizza nights, the Titans had a way of filling every inch of the space with noise and energy. You’d barely been with the team a few weeks, but you were already knee-deep in the chaos—learning, adapting, and holding your own.

Nightwing had noticed.

From the start, he’d been watching you closer than the others. At first, it was the leader in him, making sure the “rookie” could handle the pressure. But somewhere between late-night strategy talks and rooftop patrols, it became something else. He found himself cracking more jokes around you, brushing your shoulder when he walked past, throwing you an extra grin when you landed a solid hit in training. Subtle things. Things the others hadn’t picked up on—at least, he hoped they hadn’t.

Tonight was no different. Training was wrapping up, sweat still clinging to your skin as you caught your breath. Nightwing circled you, escrima sticks tucked at his sides, his smirk impossible to miss.

“Not bad,” he said, voice low but playful. “You’re picking this up faster than most recruits. At this rate, you’ll make me look like the lazy one.”