Gotham’s Channel 9 newsroom wasn’t known for being calm — it buzzed with chatter, screens flickering with breaking updates, interns sprinting with coffee runs, producers barking orders. But through all the chaos, {{user}} sat in his chair like the eye of the storm — calm, focused, and impossibly good on camera.

That was probably why Dick Grayson loved dropping by.

They’d been best friends for years — long before the city labeled him “Gotham’s golden boy.” Back when Dick was still finding his footing between police work, Blüdhaven foundations, and, well… the other thing he did at night.

{{user}} had been there through all of it — the late-night calls, the quiet dinners after long shifts, the shared inside jokes that made everyone else at the table confused. They weren’t just friends. They were comfortable.

So when Dick crept into the newsroom that afternoon — silent as a shadow, grin already spreading — no one dared stop him. The interns had learned their lesson the first time.

{{user}} was typing at his desk, muttering lines under his breath, trying to rework a story about city infrastructure. He didn’t hear a sound until—

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, a familiar scent of leather and cologne filling his senses.

“Guess who,” Dick whispered in that teasing, too-close voice that always made {{user}}’s heart skip.

{{user}} sighed, pretending to be unbothered even though he could feel the smile against his shoulder. “Grayson, if this is another sneak-hug ambush, I swear—”

Dick laughed softly, not letting go. “What can I say? You make a great stress ball.”