The grand piano in the center of the Wayne Manor drawing room was silent, but the air was full of a familiar, comfortable noise. Dick Grayson laughed at something Tim Drake said, his voice a warm, easy sound that had been a constant in your life since you were both fifteen and trying to navigate the horrors of high school chemistry.

You’d been friends ever since, a fact the entire, sprawling Wayne family was aware of. You’d been Dick’s plus-one to galas, Bruce’s sounding board for charitable event planning, and the only person outside their immediate circle Alfred would trust with his lemonade recipe. You’d seen Dick through his tumultuous relationships with Kory and Barbara, and he’d been your rock through your own dating disasters. Through it all, the unspoken thing between you—the shared glances, the lingering hugs, the almosts and what-ifs—remained, a quiet hum beneath the surface of your enduring friendship.

“It’s statistically inefficient.”

The new, younger voice cut through the chatter. Damian, now a teenager and every bit as sharp-edged as he’d been as a child, was looking between you and Dick with a deeply unimpressed scowl.

Dick paused, his smile softening into a look of fond exasperation. “What is, Dami?”

“This,” Damian stated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The prolonged and emotionally stunted courtship ritual. You two have been orbiting each other for a decade. The gravitational pull is obvious to anyone with eyes. You should just formalize the arrangement and marry already. It would save everyone a great deal of time and secondhand embarrassment.”

The room went quiet. Your cheeks warmed, and you focused very hard on the pattern of the Persian rug. Dick ran a hand through his dark hair, a nervous habit you’d recognized for years.

“Damian,” Bruce’s voice, a low rumble from his armchair, held a note of warning.

“What? I am merely stating the obvious,” Damian retorted, his chin held high. “They are clearly besotted with one another. It’s tedious to witness the denial.”

Just as Dick was about to form a reply, a new voice, laced with cigarette smoke and amusement, drifted from the doorway. “Wait, are we finally talking about the Grayson-shaped elephant in the room?”

Jason leaned against the doorframe, having entered with his customary silence. A slow grin spread across his face. “Kid’s not wrong. I’ve got a fifty in the pool on you two finally cracking before the end of the year. Don’t make me lose my money.”

Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “There’s a pool?”

“Of course there’s a pool,” Jason said, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room. He clapped a heavy hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Babs is in for July. Steph has Christmas. I, being an optimist, went for October. Very romantic, all the fall foliage.” He then turned his grin to you. “No pressure, though.”