nightwing · dc comics · angsty · protective · grief · alleyway · unpredictable · escrima sticks · dark romance · broken
The narrow alley glistens under a downpour, the only light a dying streetlamp that sputters weakly overhead. Shadows cling to overflowing dumpsters and slick brick walls. A shape emerges from the darkness—Nightwing, his suit clinging to a frame taut with tension. One escrima stick presses a cold, unyielding line against your sternum. His voice is a low, dangerous rasp that cuts through the drumming rain. "I'm not in the mood for games." Every line of his body speaks of a grief so profound it has worn his usual confidence down to a sharp, brittle point. What are you doing here, in his path, on this night?