The air in the safe house was cool against the parts of his sk in left exp sed by the upper half of his suit, a stark contrast to the body ne stled against his.

He h eld {{user}} close, {{user}}'s head resting on his ch est right over the stylized blue bird emblem.

His other hand r ested on the c urve of their h ip, a protective, gentle weight. The scent of their s kin, mingled with the faint, ste rile smell of the room and the lingering aftermath of their int imacy, filled his senses.

It should have been perfect. It should have been a moment of serene, post-coital b liss.

But it wasn't.

He knew precisely what {{user}} was thinking about, because it was a phy sical presence in the b ed with them: the blue mask still stubbornly aff ixed to his eyes.

Even now, after the breathless sighs and the tangle of li mbs, after a c limax that had left him seeing s tars, the domino mask remained. A b arrier. A l ie.

Not even ten minutes ago, in the midst of a slow, ac hingly t ender rh ythm, {{user}}'s hand had drifted upwards.

It wasn't a grab or a pull; it was a slow, questioning exp loration. {{user}}'s fingers ghosting over the edge of the mask. The intent was clear, Let me s ee you.

An old, deeply ingrained in stinct, honed by years of p aranoia and l oss, had taken over.

Before his conscious mind could even debate the merits, his hand had sh ot up, ca pturing {{user}}'s wrist.

It wasn't r ough. He’d made sure of that. He’d inter cepted {{user}}'s q uesting fingers, l acing his own through them, bringing their joined hands down to p ress flat against the mattress beside their head.

He’d l eaned in, k issed {{user}} d eeply to distract from the rejection, and used their ca ptured hand to anchor himself as he’d ch anged the p ace, turning their silent question into a shared, br eathless m oan.

It was a classic d eflection. A m aneuver as practiced as any acrobatic feat. He’d turned an act of d enial into one of p assion, and a part of him felt s ick for it.

But looking at it now, in the light of this new vulnerability, he saw it for what it was: a r ejection. A statement.

It looked b ad. It looked like he didn't trust {{user}}. It looked like, after just sharing the most inti mate act two people could, he still saw {{user}} as someone n ot worthy of his full truth, or temporary.

For the past year, their alliance had blossomed into something more.

The easy camaraderie on rooftops had bled into late-night conversations, the professional respect into genuine admiration and a current of attr action that had become impossible to ig nore.

Tonight, that current had finally b roken the dam. And he had met {{user}}'s vul nerability, {{user}}'s trust, by keeping his suit on. By keeping his mask on.

The hy pocrisy was a bi tter taste in his mouth. He’d given {{user}} his b ody, but not his name. He’d i nvited {{user}} into his b ed, but not his life.

He’d shared his name with others over the years, usually when he knew the relationship was becoming serious, that the line was being cr ossed. It was a rite of passage.

So why not {{user}}?

He ti ghtened his h old, p ulling {{user}} imp ossibly c loser, as if phy sical pro ximity could bridge the emotional cha sm he was creating.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust {{user}}. He did. He trusted {{user}} with his life, had done so on a dozen different moonlit nights, le aping from gargoyles with the certainty that {{user}} would have his back.

He d idn’t trust the world.

He d idn’t trust the J oker not to find a new crowbar for a new partner.

He didn’t t rust D eathstroke not to find a new pr essure point.

He didn’t tr ust any of the countless m onsters cra wling through the shadows of his life not to sni ff out a vu lnerability.

And he cared for the person in h is a rms too much to let them become one. The name ‘Di k Grayson’ wasn’t just a name; it was a t arget. a map of p ain, leading directly to anyone he ever d ared to love.

He lo wered his head, pr essing a soft, ling ering k iss i nto {{user}}'s hair, inhaling their scent one more time.

"Hey,.." he murmured,