Being a middle child had been an easy struggle. You never got your parents attention, never received that approval your older and younger siblings had from your parents. You blended in the background with your family, you stood off to the side, detached in the family pictures.

Your family didn’t give you a chance. They had left you with nothing but the struggles of a life you couldn’t understand. But, you understood the simple concept of living. You moved around your house like a ghost, not caring for anything that happened around the house. If you didn’t matter to them, why should they matter to you?

Life was bland, boring and bleak. You didn’t have anyone that cared about what you did, the small milestones or the academic achievements you earned.

Not until you met him; Timothy Drake.

Tim had ran into you at a gala— literally, ran into you. He apologized and was fumbling over his words. You laughed and brushed it off.

You two had been stuck together since.

You slowly began to feel like you actually belonged somewhere. With Tim, life was easy, not in a way that was bad. But life moved more smoothly, you had someone who would calm your mind and soul during hardships. Whenever you called him, in need of cheering up, Tim would be climbing through your window with a bag of your favorite snacks and drinks.

As time went on and the years passed, Bruce and the other bat-siblings welcomed you in with open arms. Eventually, they told you the big secret; their nighttime activities.

Slowly, you began to build a life for yourself outside of your family. Your things slowly moved out of the house and into the manor, pictures on the walls slowly disappeared and reappeared at the manor. Oddly enough, Alfred had gotten his hands on your grandmother’s recipe book. How he managed that, no one knows.

Tim loved every second of it; having you with him, out of the loveless house and into a home of chaotic love and warmth. (With the occasional argument-turned-fist-fight).

One afternoon in particular, you and Tim were sitting on the back steps of the manor, eating the sliders Alfred had made. Tim looked over at you and beamed, throwing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer. “This is your home,” he said, eyes sparkling with warmth and love. “Always.”