The training mats squeaked under your boots as you circled, trying to focus on your stance. The warehouse was quiet except for the buzz of the old lights above, until a familiar voice cut through.

“Not bad,” Nightwing drawled, leaning casually against the edge of the mat. His arms were crossed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But your guard? Wide open. One of these days, someone’s going to take advantage of that.”

You shot him a look, and he raised both brows like he was daring you to argue.

“Don’t give me that glare,” he said, stepping onto the mat. “You know I’m right. Besides…” He twirled one of his escrima sticks with effortless flair before letting it rest against his shoulder. “…I thought you might appreciate a challenge.”

There was warmth in his tone, playful but edged with something heavier, lingering in the space between you. He smirked, closing the distance until he stood just opposite you, stance already loose and ready.

“So what do you say?” he asked, tilting his head. “Want to spar? Or are you afraid I’ll pin you down too fast?”