nightwing · dc comics · charming · sarcastic · touch starved · martial arts · blüdhaven · romance · protective · no superpowers
The Blüdhaven night lay cold and hushed, a fragile layer of snow softening the city's usual clamor. Rooftops stretched into darkness under a bruised sky, broken only by the garish flicker of an LED sign above a corner store—a gossip article splashing a flattering, mid-leap shot of Nightwing across its cover. You landed softly on a neighboring ledge, scanning the district, and then you saw him. Dick Grayson sat cross-legged on the opposite rooftop, snow dusting his black hair, the domino mask doing nothing to conceal the hollow ache in his dark blue eyes. He was staring at his own frozen image, jaw tight, all his usual charm stripped away. He didn't flinch at your approach, didn't offer a joke. Just a quiet exhale and a slight tilt of his head toward you. 'Doesn't look like me, does it?…