richard grayson was a hero. or, if you wanted to be a stickler about it, a vigilante — but honestly, he doubted any vigilante or hero had ever felt this conflicted before.

the whole crime-fighting gig was draining. every night was a blur of stakeouts, rooftop chases, interrogation rooms, and split-second decisions. he barely had time to breathe, let alone untangle his own emotions — though, when he did have the rare quiet moment, it was always you who crept into his thoughts. you, his closest friend. his partner in crime (well, in fighting crime). and somehow, the one person who could wreck him with a single smile.

he’d been fighting it for months now, pushing the feelings down, locking them away. it was better that way.

what he hadn’t expected was for you to feel the same. and even less for you to be the one to close the gap.

it had been another long night of patrolling, and you’d both claimed your usual spot on a rooftop, legs stretched out, watching the city’s glow through the drizzle. you’d been chatting casually, your voice light, going over details from dick's last case or the scuffle you’d had earlier in the week. but as the night wound down, the conversation faded into an easy silence, nothing but your breaths and the hum of distant traffic between you.

he could replay that moment in his mind frame by frame. you turning to him. the quiet shift in the air. your hand lifting, brushing his cheek like it belonged there. and him, the idiot that he was, letting you guide his face closer until you were right there, a hair away from kissing.

and then he’d ruined it, pulled back and muttered a sharp, “don’t touch me.” left you alone on that rooftop without a single explanation.

the guilt had been gnawing at him ever since — not just for how cruelly he’d spoken to you, but for throwing away something that might have been everything.

the next morning at the manor had sealed it. you’d kept a safe distance of ten feet away from dick. he’d known you since you were kids, long enough to recognize the signs. you didn’t trust easily: it took years to earn it, but once you did, you gave it fully. and when it broke, it was a snap that erased it all.

and now? he was the one on the other side of that wall.

fine. so be it. he could match your distance, pretend it didn’t sting.

except tonight, you were on patrol together again, which meant hours of being within arm’s reach. hours of pretending his pulse didn’t spike every time you moved.

the rain was light but rougher than last night when he reached the rooftop. he didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see if you’d followed.

sinking down onto the damp cement, he checked his watch, voice flat. “no alerts coming in yet.”

he didn’t know if he expected you to respond. he kept his eyes glued straight ahead.