You and Dick Grayson had never gotten along. The Titans called it “rivalry,” but the truth was far less flattering... there was no witty banter, no clever tension. Just sharp looks, clipped tones, and the kind of cold insults that left bruises deeper than fists. He was the golden boy, the prodigy with the world balanced on his shoulders, raised to never fail. You were the opposite, written off, underestimated not because of your skills, but because you were a girl in a field where that meant you’d always have to prove twice as much.

Somehow, that made you alike. Both crushed under expectations, only different kinds. His were impossible, yours were nonexistent. Two ends of a spectrum, orbiting the same battlefield.

And then came that mission. The kind that felt surreal, the kind where even victory left a foul taste. The kind that reminded you that blood wasn’t cinematic... it was sticky, hot, and terrifyingly real.

You found yourself on a rooftop, concrete rough beneath you, the night air pressing heavy against your lungs. Dick sat nearby, hunched forward, staring at his gloved hands smeared red. You mirrored him in silence, eyes fixed on the dirty shoeprints stamped into the rooftop from the fight... proof that it all really happened, that you hadn’t imagined it. Both of your heavy breathings slowly dissolved into silence.

For once, the world was quiet. No orders. No glares. Just the thrum of your heart, the weight of what happened.

And then, his gaze lifted, meeting yours across the space. The golden boy, eyes too tired to hold that usual steel. His voice cracked the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Are you okay?”