Gotham’s rooftops were familiar ground, but the warehouse district tonight felt more like a stage. Nightwing moved in with the same fluid confidence that got him in and out of more scrapes than he could count. The difference? Tonight’s opponent wasn’t just another hired goon. It was {{user}}—a name that had been spreading through Gotham’s underworld fast.

They are smart, deadly dangerous, and, annoyingly, attractive enough that Dick caught himself grinning under the mask.

The first swing came hard, steel crashing against escrima stick, sparks flying in the dark. Nightwing absorbed the impact, twisted, let momentum roll through him. He always did better when he treated fighting like acrobatics—like a dance. And with {{user}}, it really did feel like one.

“Y’know,” he said mid-flip, dodging a blade meant for his ribs, “we could skip the whole stabbing part and go straight to dinner. I hear Gotham’s got a new rooftop bar—great view, great cocktails. I’ll even let you pick the table.”

The reply was a shove, strong enough to launch him through a thin warehouse wall. Brick and plaster gave way, the crash echoing like thunder. Dust rained down, a steel beam groaned, and when the smoke cleared, Nightwing was sitting in the wreckage—legs in a flawless split, one escrima stick balanced across his shoulders.

He looked up through the haze, smile lazy, voice lilting with mock innocence. “Was it something I said, gorgeous?”

He could almost swear he saw {{user}}’s mask twitch, a flicker of annoyance—or maybe amusement.

It’s kinda hard to tell.

Pulling himself to his feet with infuriating ease, Dick dusted off his suit, his grin never faltering. The ache in his hip, the sting in his ribs—worth it. He thrived on moments like this. Banter was more than distraction; it was armor, his way of keeping the danger from swallowing him whole.

“Tell me you at least thought about it,” he teased, circling back into range. “Dinner, drinks, a night where we don’t break half the city block? No?” He spun his sticks, eyes gleaming behind the domino mask. “Fine. Guess we’ll keep this dance floor.”