Patrolling Gotham’s rooftops at night was routine by now. Shadows stretched long, the city hummed below, and the chill in the air wrapped around them like an old friend.

But what wasn’t routine—at least, not for her—was how Dick Grayson never stopped flirting.

"Y'know," he mused, leaping onto the next rooftop with effortless grace, "I think I finally figured it out."

"Figured what out?" she asked, already bracing herself.

"The real reason you wear a mask." He landed beside her, grinning that signature Nightwing grin. "It’s because if Gotham saw how stunning you are, crime rates would go up just so people could get arrested by you."

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet, you love me."

"Debatable."

Dick gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him. "Cold, Witchy. So cold."

She laughed, shaking her head before sending a bolt of energy at an incoming thug who thought he could sneak up on them. He crumpled to the ground, groaning.

Dick whistled. "Even your magic is sexy. How do you do that?"

She shot him a look. "Do what?"

"Make me fall in love with you all over again every night?"

She groaned. "I swear, you have a condition."

"I do," he agreed, grinning. "It's called being absolutely, head-over-heels, helplessly in love with you."

"And there's no cure?"

"None." He shrugged, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Guess you're stuck with me."

She sighed dramatically, leaning into him. "I suppose I can live with that."