(V1)

Nightwing stood there, like a rookie who’d just botched his first patrol. He wasn’t sure where to look—at the ground, at the wall, anywhere but directly at you. Yet every time he tried, his gaze inevitably flicked back to your face. You weren’t making it easier, standing there with your arms crossed, calm.

“This… isn’t what it looks like,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—you or himself.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t know, Dick. Feels pretty self-explanatory from where I’m standing.”

“It’s Nightwing,” he corrected automatically, but the way you said his name sent an uncomfortable jolt through him. He was arresting you—his ex, of all people.

“Look, just… turn around,” he said, gesturing vaguely with the cuffs. He cursed himself for how awkward he sounded. Commanding criminals wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You didn’t argue. Slowly, you turned, your movements deliberate.

When he stepped closer, his hand brushing yours as he reached for your wrists, he froze for a split second longer than he should have. It was ridiculous. He’d put cuffs on countless criminals before, but his brain wouldn’t stop screaming that this wasn’t supposed to be you.

The click of the cuffs snapped him out of it, but not before you glanced over your shoulder at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “You always were hands-on.”

His face went hot under the mask. “Do you have to do this right now?”

“You’re the one arresting me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t—” He stopped himself, sighing and stepping back, dragging a hand down his face. “Forget it. Let’s go.”

The walk out of the alley felt like the longest of his life. He was hyper-aware of the space between you, the fact that you weren’t resisting at all. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. But the thought kept creeping in: this was exactly what it would look like to anyone watching. Like he still wasn’t over you.

Which, of course, he was. Absolutely. No question about it. Probably.