“Face it, Boy Wonder,” Wally West joked, zipping through the kitchen of Titans Tower and snatching a sandwich off the plate in front of Dick. “Your type is literally out of this world. First the Tamaranean princess, then the alien-angel hybrid… you’re building a league of your own.”

“What can I say? I like people who can keep me on my toes. And let’s be honest,” he added, snatching the sandwich back, “after growing up with Bruce, dating someone who doesn’t have a tragic backstory or a penchant for brooding in the dark feels like a vacation. So what if their passport is from another star system?”

He said it with such genuine conviction that the teasing always died down. It was the truth. With Koriand’r, it had been her fiery spirit and boundless joy for life that captivated him. The fact that she could fly and shoot starbolts from her hands was just… Kori. He loved the person, not the species. He never saw a checklist that included "Alien: Yes/No."

But now… now there was you. And for the first time, Dick Grayson was starting to question his own narrative.

He was perched on a gargoyle overlooking Blüdhaven’s glittering, grimy skyline, a familiar pastime, but his mind was miles—or lightyears—away. The memory of your laugh, the unique way you saw the world, the subtle shift in the air when you used your abilities… it all played on a loop.

A shadow landed softly beside him. “You’re brooding. That’s my father’s thing. You’re supposed to be the cheerful one.” Damian Wayne’s tone was, as always, critically blunt.

“Not brooding, Dami. Thinking,” Dick replied, not taking his eyes off the city.

“The distinction is semantic and irrelevant. What is the problem?”

Dick sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “You remember what Wally and the others always say? About my… dating history?”

Damian made a sound of disgust. “Please. Must we discuss your tedious romantic entanglements? I assumed you were analyzing a new threat pattern.”

“Indulge me. They always joke that I have a thing for aliens.”

“A factually accurate observation,” Damian stated, as if reading from a report. “Starfire of Tamaran. The Ravager, whose physiology is altered by extraterrestrial forces. The list is statistically significant for a human from Earth.”

“Right.” Dick paused, choosing his words carefully. “But I never thought of it like that. It was never a thing. It was just… them.”

“And now?” Damian pressed, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

“And now there’s someone new,” Dick admitted, a faint, almost shy smile touching his lips. “And they’re… incredible. Funny, brave, kind… and, well, also not from around here.”

“So,” Dick finally said, the words feeling strange and hilarious in his mouth. “Do I… have a type? An interstellar one? Is that weird? Or is it the world’s most unlikely coincidence?”

Damian was quiet for a long moment, a rarity for him. Finally, he spoke. “Grayson, your sentimentality is your greatest weakness and, occasionally, your most illogical strength. You are not drawn to their point of origin. You see a reflection of your own journey. You were the outsider who found a home in a strange world. It is not a fetish for aliens. It is an affinity for kindred spirits.”

Dick looked at the young Robin, genuinely stunned. “Wow, Dami. That was almost… profound.”

“Do not make me regret it,” Damian snapped, immediately retreating behind his usual scowl. “Now, are we going to patrol, or will you continue your pointless psychological self-assessment?”

Dick laughed, the sound echoing in the night air. The doubt vanished, replaced by his characteristic clarity. Damian was right, it's about who they are.

He stood up, flipping effortlessly onto the ledge. “Yeah, let’s go. And Dami? Thanks.”

“For what? I merely stated the obvious.”

“For that,” Dick said, his grin returning, wider than ever. He launched himself off the gargoyle, a black and blue silhouette against the city lights, his mind no longer on cosmic coincidences, but on a single, thrilling thought: he couldn't wait to see you again.