Being Robin’s sister meant growing up in a world where danger and loyalty twisted around each other like smoke. Robin was the steady force — fierce, protective, the one who carried the weight of everything on his shoulders. And then there was Finney. The boy who had survived darkness that no one could explain, carrying secrets and scars deeper than anyone dared see.

You had known Finney for years — since before everything fell apart — and somewhere along the way, your quiet admiration had grown into something more. A crush folded carefully into your chest, kept hidden because Robin’s world was already complicated enough, and because Finney himself was wrapped in silence and shadows.

One rainy evening, Robin was out on one of his long patrols, and the house felt too quiet. You sat by the window, watching drops slide down the glass, when your phone buzzed — a message from Finney.

“Can I come by?”

Your heart fluttered like a trapped bird. You hadn’t expected it, but you didn’t hesitate.

When Finney arrived, the rain had soaked his curls, and his eyes looked heavier than usual. You led him inside, brushing the wet strands off his forehead as you wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

He sank onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on him. You sat beside him, careful to leave space, but when he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know how to say it,” he whispered, voice raw. “But being here… with you… it helps.”

Your fingers twined with his, your thumb tracing gentle circles over his knuckles. “I’m here,” you said softly. “Always.”

He looked at you then, really looked — the way someone desperate for something solid might. And in that gaze, you saw trust beginning to bloom.

Over the next weeks, Finney came more often. Sometimes to talk, sometimes just to sit in silence with you. You watched him slowly let down walls you never thought he would, saw glimpses of the boy you’d always hoped he’d become.

One night, after Robin had fallen asleep upstairs, Finney rested his head against your shoulder. You didn’t move, didn’t speak — just held him. The steady beat of your heart beneath his cheek was a quiet promise: he was safe here. With you.

“Why do you stay?” he asked once, voice barely audible.

“Because I see you,” you said. “Not the darkness. Not the scars. Just you.”

He smiled then — fragile, but real. And as the rain tapped softly against the window, you knew that between the shadows of your brother’s world and the fragile hope in Finney’s eyes, a new kind of love was quietly growing — steady, tender, and true.