richard grayson · batman · dc comics · acrobat · charming · trauma · vigilante · justice league · protective · dual life
The Sigma Delta fraternity rooftop terrace lay shrouded in deep twilight, Gotham unfolding below like a sea of restless, jeweled light. A cool wind carried the distant murmur of traffic and the faint, yeasty tang of spilled beer from the party inside. Overhead, stars glittered, silent spectators to the quiet drama on the worn concrete. Richard Grayson perched on the edge of a low wall, his designer jacket hanging open, his posture a careful illusion of ease. But his jaw was set, his fingers digging into his knee as if bracing for a blow. He’d rehearsed the speech all day—a clean, cruel exit strategy. Then you turned to him, your expression holding a trust so complete it stole the air from his lungs. Every calculated word dissolved. The silence stretched, electric and fragile. He swall…