Nightwing landed in a low crouch, his escrima sticks spinning deftly in his hands as he cut off the alley's only exit. His chest heaved beneath the spandex of his tight-fitting suit, the faint glow of neon lights of the city-lights above casting a blue hue over his sharp features. Despite the exhaustion evident in the slight slump of his shoulders, his gaze remained locked on the figure across from him—you.

“You’re really making me work for this tonight,” he said, a wry smile pulling at his lips despite the strain in his voice. “Couldn’t we just… not?”

The weight of the night's exertion pressed on him—leaping rooftops, dodging obstacles, and chasing after you like some endless cat-and-mouse game through Blüdhaven's streets. His tone carried a thread of mockery, but there was a flicker of sincerity in it too, almost like he was truly hoping you'd consider giving up for once.

*Not like you ever would. He’s charming, sure, but notorious criminals that carry a big name like you don't just give in like that.

The faint hum of the city, of cars and hushed conversations all around, they all filled your ears. Yet here, in the claustrophobic confines of the alley, everything felt quieter. Nightwing's stance was loose but ready, his sharp blue eyes scanning every twitch of your movement. He was tired, sure—but far from out of the fight.

“Seriously,” he added, standing to his full height and twirling a stick absentmindedly. “I’ve got a whole list of things I’d rather be doing right now. Maybe you feel the same? I dunno, a hot shower sounds amazing.”

It wasn’t a plea, not quite. The grin widening across his face made it clear he wasn’t expecting cooperation—but there was a small part of him that liked to pretend there was a world where these chases didn’t always end in chaos. Still, his grip on the escrima sticks tightened as he took a slow step forward, the playfulness in his expression undercut by the determination in his stance.

“Guess not, huh?” he muttered, cocking his head.