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YOU REMEMBER READING ABOUT IT IN THE PAPER. The sound of the kettle squealing from the kitchen as your mother made tea and breakfast in the early morning for your close-knit family, the smell of fresh toast and eggs wafting into the large dining room where you and your father currently resided, your small fingers making the newspaper crinkle as you squinted to read it.
Reading the newspaper before breakfast was never something you did, but the morning news playing on the television a couple of inches away on an end table hadn't provided enough local news for your taste, and after the incident at a circus that had come into town, you were desperate to know more. Especially since your father had told you that the man you lived beside, Bruce Wayne, had taken in the lone survivor of the trapeze incident.
Your father was very loud about what he thought on certain things, always the type of man to be cutthroat about his opinions, never softening himself for the sake of someone else. So when he told you of Bruce Wayne, the notorious playboy who lived with a singular butler, had taken in a ward, he was spouting a bunch of things about how Wayne was not fit to look after a child (most of which you didn't hear, too distracted by other things). You had met Bruce Wayne a handful of times, at banquets and charity events, and he had always been kind to you—kindness was to be expected from the adults around you, seeing as you were a little girl and constantly undermined, but the kindness Bruce offered you didn't at all suggest he thought little of you. To your nine-year-old brain, that was enough for you to adore Bruce Wayne.
"Richard Grayson," you had whispered, mostly to yourself, as your eyes read the words inked onto the newspaper, before you turned your head to meet your father's gaze. "He's my age, Dad. Maybe I should bake him some cookies. I'm sure he's in need of a new friend."
A scoff slipped past your father's lips as he sipped at his steaming coffee, looking at you from over the rim. "No, no," he started as soon as he set the mug back down, "none of that. You don't want to be friends with a boy like that. He lost his parents, you see. People who go through something like that always end up on the wrong side of the law. I would know."
His words caused you to frown, unable to wrap your mind around the concept. You didn't fully understand what your father was trying to say, but you knew it didn't seem right. However, arguing with your father about such things would never go in your favor. He was a prosecuting attorney, which meant he believed he knew all the ins and outs of crime in Gotham.
"Mister Bruce lost his parents," you began, sitting up straighter in your chair, adjusting the skirt of your school's uniform as you looked at your father self-assuredly, "and he is the best philanthropist in Gotham City."
That seemed to amuse him, because he snorted, shaking his head, before giving you a look that seemed to remind you that you were just a little girl. You hated that look. "You know nothing about the world. A man like Bruce Wayne, with that wealth to boot.. It's only a matter of time before he crosses that line. I'd bet good money he already has. Hell, I'm sure he's only taken this boy in for the tabloids. I give it a week until that kid's back in the foster care system."
The sound of sturdy heels clicking against the tile stopped you from arguing with your dad any longer, signaling that your mom had entered the room. The sound was followed by a stronger scent of an assortment of breakfast foods, the plates being set in front of you on the table.
"What exciting conversations did I miss?" your mother questioned, an amused lilt to her voice as she took off the oven mitts that had been on her hands, taking her place at the table as well, directly across from your dad.
Before you could let your dad reply, you smiled eagerly, your chin raised proudly as you looked at her. "There's a new boy who moved in next door with Mister Bruce. Richard Grayson is my age, Mom. I was thinking of baking him cookies to befriend him. You say you have to go through a man's stomach to get to his heart, right?"
She let out a light laugh, her expression softening at you as she smeared butter over a fresh piece of toast. "Oh, that sounds lovely. That's the poor circus boy, isn't it? Such a tragic story... I'm sure he could use a friend like you, dear."
To your right, a grunt released from your father, like he was still perturbed by the idea, but he only shoveled more eggs into his mouth.
You ate your breakfast in silence with barely contained eagerness, thankful that today was a Friday. As soon as you made it home from school, you were certain you'd bake cookies and visit Wayne Manor.
YOUR MOTHER WAS AN EXCELLENT COOK AND BAKER, SO YOU GREATLY APPRECIATED HER HELP AND EXPERTISE AS YOUR SMALL HANDS MESSILY MOLDED THE HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE DOUGH INTO LITTLE BALLS. You gingerly set the balls of cookie dough onto the pan, your mother playfully applauding you from her spot next to you, before she grabbed the pan with her gloved hands and slid it into the warm oven.
"I could use your help in the kitchen more often," she said, a wide grin on her red lips as she shot you a wink. "These might be the best cookies I've ever made."
You smiled widely in reply, your mother's words inflating your ego as you stood taller while watching her set the oven timer.
Your mother was the sweetest woman you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She always smelled like flowers, her voice always dripping like honey, soft and sweet. You can't think of a time when she raised her voice in anger.
She is the exact opposite of your dad.
Which is why you often spent time wondering why on earth your sweet and loving mom could ever marry someone like your father. Your father was a big and loud man, and since you spend most of your time standing off to the side at events, you catch the way socialites look at him. Smiles that don't quite reach their eyes, or outright sneers when he turns his back.
It makes you wonder what he does to warrant so many people disliking him.
"How did you meet Dad?" you suddenly found yourself asking, standing on a stool as you leaned against the counter, looking up at your mom curiously.
She seemed to falter in her movements as she wiped the kitchen island down. She then gave you one of her winning smiles. "Haven't I told you the story?" When you shook your head, she continued, "Well, I was a waitress in Crime Alley before it became crime-ridden. Your father was fresh out of school, rich, and swept me off my feet as soon as we felt that tug."
"Tug?" Your eyebrows twisted together with confusion.
Her smile widened, her eyes down on the counter as she wiped it off with a rag. Usually, your family's maid would clean, but your mother never seemed to shake the habit. "The soulmate tug."
That word caused you to blink at yourself. Soulmate.
It was something you heard fairly often, particularly from adults who enjoyed pinching your chubby cheek and baby-talking to you. It wasn't something you had understood yet, mainly because you couldn't care less about love and romance, but from what you knew, soulmates were just a silly myth. It wasn't an actual thing. No one was destined to be together, and there certainly wasn't such a thing as soulmates.
"That sounds silly," you dismissed with a giggle, smiling at your mom with a toothy grin. "Soulmates aren't real."
She gave you a look in reply, like she knew what you were thinking, and that she also knew more to it than you did. But she didn't say something like that. She didn't say you don't know anything about the world like your dad would have. Instead, she hummed sweetly and said, "You'll feel that tug one day."
You eyed her skeptically, but ultimately decided to drop the subject altogether. You didn't know if you believed her or not, but the idea of soulmates is pushed towards the back of your mind as you think of the boy next door instead.
Soon, the timer on the oven squeaks to life, and your mother is placing the freshly baked and warm cookies into a dish. You assist her, setting the lid onto the dozen cookies, tying a pink bow around it to accentuate the dish.
With a matching wide grin, your mother shooed you out of the front door, and you proudly walked down the long driveway of your house with the cookies in your arms, down the sidewalk in a short walk to Wayne Manor, then up the circular driveway leading up to the house.
Wayne Manor was much larger than your own house, since the man was definitely way wealthier than your family, but you still ran in the same circles. You stared up at the house that loomed far above your small frame the closer you got to it, the sharp architecture and darker the colors became, creating a serene atmosphere.
Sucking in a deep breath as you stepped onto the front porch, balancing the dish of cookies in one hand, you raised your finger to press against the doorbell. As you stood there and waited, you subconsciously held your breath, standing up tall.
When the door creaked open, revealing the friendly face of an older man with greying hair and a styled mustache resting on his lips, which were turned up into a smile, the tension in your body eased.
Alfred was a good man, you thought to yourself, so you didn't feel the need to keep your guard up around Bruce's butler. Or, at the very least, he was a better man than most who lived in Gotham. Certainly a better man than your own father was, though you would never tell that to anyone.
"Ah, what brings you here this evening, miss?" Alfred spoke lightly, his hand on the door as he looked down at you. He eyed the dish in your hands curiously.
Exhaling slowly, you steeled your nerves as you held his gaze. "Hello, Mister Alfred," you started, clearly your throat once your voice sounded a little squeakier than intended, "I heard there's a new boy here. Um.. Richard Grayson. I baked him some cookies."
A look of surprise flashed briefly across the older man's features, before his expression settled into one of warmth. He nodded his head wordlessly, like he was contemplating his next actions, before he stepped to the side, holding his hand out to gesture for you to enter.
Blinking, you stood there for a moment, peering into the grand entrance of Wayne's house. If your father were here, he'd probably scold you for even thinking about entering the house of a man you don't know well alone.
'Do you know how many murders wouldn't have occurred if children listened to their parents and stayed out of trouble?' he'd ask, and you knew that wasn't a fair question.
Ignoring the voice of your father inside your head, you smiled at Alfred Pennyworth wordlessly and slowly walked into the manor. You stood in the foyer, hearing the front door click shut behind you.
"Master Richard hasn't had the time to get acquainted with anyone, yet. I'm sure he'll appreciate your camaraderie," Alfred informed with a hum, his gloved hands behind his back, your eyes following his movements as he made his way to the wide staircase. "Do make yourself comfortable while I fetch the young sir."
Alfred disappeared up the stairs, turning down a hallway and no longer in your field of vision.
The cookies were warm while they rested in your hands, and despite not feeling any fear while being in this house, you weren't exactly comfortable enough to kick off your shoes and begin exploring. The only times you've been inside this house were when it had been filled up with people during some sort of charity event hosted by Bruce. It felt quiet, like the house was hiding something you weren't allowed to know about.
So, instead, you stood there by the front door and waited, rocking on the balls of your feet.
Your eyes traced what you could see of the home. To the right seemed to be a living area, large enough that you were unable to see all of it, but your eyes did catch on the velvety plush cushions of the chairs sprawled around on a red and golden carpet. Turning to your right, you looked down a long hall that held many doors, none of which you could see into, unless you stepped closer. But you didn't dare. You'd wait there until Alfred returned.
You then wondered if Bruce Wayne was home. The sun was still out, barely above the horizon, so it seemed the time when everyone in their office jobs would be returning home. What if he saw you in his house, before Alfred got back, so he had no knowledge of why you were there? Would he be mad? Would he kick you out?
Before you could dwell any longer on odd hypotheticals, and before you were even able to lay eyes on him, you felt a strange sensation in your chest.
Your heart seemed to know something you didn't, jumping with an emotion you couldn't name, something you'd never felt before. Something clawed inside of your stomach, like it was trying to pull you somewhere, while someone in your head seemed to scream at you to turn your eyes, to walk forward.
So, you did. You looked up, hearing two sets of footsteps. Alfred was walking down the staircase now, but he was behind him.
Again did your heart jump when your eyes met his. The organ practically jumped out of your chest when you took in the sight of the boy's deep blue eyes, like the water of the Atlantic Ocean you had seen on a boat ride with your family over the summer, and it had your breath hitching.
It felt like time had stopped, like you were in a daze. You briefly wondered if he was feeling this, too. Was he comparing your own eyes to something familiar to him? Was his heart beating uncontrollably? Did he have the same inexplicable urge to run forward to see you up close?
You didn't realize he was right in front of you until Alfred said your name. It caused you to blink slowly, your eyes still on Richard Grayson, who blinked at you in the same fashion.
Your heart tugged at the sight as you took all of him in. He was wearing a dark red sweater vest, a collared white shirt peaking out from beneath it, both garments tucked into a pair of light tan slacks. He looked ready to attend Sunday church. You suddenly felt silly for still being in your school uniform.
"Hello," you finally managed to breathe out after who knows how long of simply staring at him, an uncontrollable smile beginning to spread across your burning cheeks. You hardly noticed Alfred smiling to himself and walking into the next room. "Hi, Richard. My.. I'm..."
"I know you," the boy answered, and it was then that you noticed a growing blush on the cheeks of his tanned skin. His smile wasn't quite the same as yours, his expression much more shy and boyish, and your heart thumped at the sight. He then said your name slowly, like he was reading it off a piece of paper. "I've seen you in magazines."
To little you, being in magazine shots (none of which were professionally taken, mostly from odd paparazzi figures following around your father, and you always ended up in the photos, too, causing people to speculate on your life) was just a part of life. It didn't seem strange, to have your life in front of the public, so you simply hummed and smiled, before thrusting the cookies in front of him.
"I've made you cookies, Richard Grayson." Pursing your lips, you continued to hold the cookies out, waiting for him to take them. You marveled as his cheeks seemed to turn redder.
"Thank you," he replied, slowly taking the dish from you. As he did so, his fingers brushed against yours, and it felt like an electric shock had slid across your body, causing your breath to hitch. If he noticed your hands brushed, he didn't show it, instead looking down at the bow tied around the container. "You, um, don't have to call me that. You can just call me Dick."
Your nerves were still settling down from the brief feeling of his fingers against yours, but you cleared your throat and managed another smile. "Okay, Dick."
Those deep blue eyes looked back up at yours, and you forced yourself to stand still, even though your hands seemed to itch, wanting to touch the wavy mop of dark hair on his head. You don't know what was wrong with you.
"Thank you, again, really," Dick continued, nodding his head as he gestured to the container of cookies, his grin wide. "These look really good. Are they chocolate chip?"
"Yup." Feeling proud of yourself, you stood taller while nodding your head as well. "You're welcome."
Silence then washed over the two of you. Dick was looking down at the cookies, then at the door behind you, and then at the wall over to the left, like he didn't know what to say. You were mostly in the same boat, since you didn't know what else to say, either, but you were unable to take your eyes off of him.
"I live next door," you suddenly blurted out, his gaze shifting back to you, much to your relief. Cheeks flushing, you shifted on your feet. "We're neighbors, and I know you're new here, so I thought I'd..."
A look of understanding made its way to his features, his shoulders sagging slightly, and he gave you a genuine smile that had your heart racing all over again. "Oh, that's cool. We should be friends." Dick then faltered, his grin more crooked. "I mean, only if you want to be."
You had to keep yourself from sounding too eager as you replied with a small yes.
Later, before the sun was able to set completely, you're walking home (Dick was beside you, claiming he didn't want to let you walk home alone despite your house being next door, and it was quite possibly the sweetest thing you'd ever heard) and you bid the boy beside you your farewells.
He waves his goodbyes, and you watch him walk down the driveway, before disappearing from sight. As soon as he was gone, your heart seemed to calm down, but it now ached, like it couldn't stand to be apart from him.
You knocked on your front door, entering your home after a maid opened it (you had yet to learn her name, and you doubt you'd ever learn it, considering your father was constantly firing and replacing them), and quickly made your way to the main living room to where you knew your mother would be.
With a loud laugh bubbling from your chest, you spot her on the couch, launching yourself onto her and into her warm embrace.
"Mother," you speak, breathless and giddy as Dick's eyes flash in your mind once more, your mom looking at you with raised and curious brows. "I felt it. The tug."
CHANDELIERS TWINKLED HIGH ABOVE YOUR HEAD AS YOU STEPPED INTO THE VENUE, YOUR HAND DWARFED BY YOUR FATHER'S ARM AS YOU HELD ONTO IT. Your dress, bedazzled with glitter, sparkled in the golden glow of the lights above you, giving you the confidence you needed to walk inside the event with a measured smile on your pink lips.
When you were younger, the galas and charity events you attended were few and far in between, so you didn't much mind going to them. For the most part, adults cooed and pinched your cheeks, while you remained off to the side with an air of boredom. Sometimes, if your parents looked away long enough, you'd steal a slice of cake or whatever other expensive pastry was being served.
Those days were behind you, as you were no longer seen as a snot-nosed child who didn't know left from right. Now, you were fourteen, and a little more was expected from you, so you held the poised expression your mother had taught you earlier that day.
The words your father and mother had been drilling in your head hours before the yearly Christmas charity gala Bruce Wayne threw were eating away at your nerves.
Once, you hadn't thought twice about what other people might have thought about you. Now, you're on edge, second-guessing every look someone throws your way, wondering if they think you're just another annoying child, or if maybe they see you as a young girl.
You feel your hand slip from the crook of your father's elbow, then you hear the practiced but loud laugh he huffed from his chest. He was walking away, towards a group of his many associates, slapping one man on the back as they began to converse.
Your mother sighed beside you, and the look on her face told you that she was planning on drinking the night away. She never used to do that, a habit that had started to pick up over the last couple of years. None of you, your father included, mentioned it. Not yet, at least.
She seemed to be itching for the buzz that was a product of the fancy alcoholic beverages that were surely being offered here, because she turned to you with a slightly more strained smile than usual. "I'll be at the bar, sweets. Why don't you go find that boy of yours?"
Immediately did your cheeks warm at the offer. Rarely did your parents ever refer to Dick Grayson by his name, always saying silly things like that, as if he were yours. It never failed to make your chest jump.
Although you weren't pleased with the notion of already separating yourself from your mom so early in the night, the idea of seeing Dick was enough to make up for your displeasure.
Wordlessly, you nodded your head, trying to fight the wide smile on your lips as you moved to the outer walls of the venue, moving past people, so you could see your surroundings better, your gaze searching for his.
Sure enough, you found him, standing by a grand staircase, his head down as he messed with the black tie around his neck, like it was suffocating him. Though, as soon as your eyes landed on him, his head raised, like he could feel your gaze.
Unable to keep the smile off your lips any longer at the sight of his boyish grin, the two of you crossed the room, meeting one another in the middle.
Over the last few years, you and Dick had become the bestest of friends. You visited his house as much as your parents would permit, and oftentimes he found himself at your house, as well. The two of you didn't attend the same school, but that didn't stop you from seeing him every day.
Sometimes it felt like you couldn't go a day without seeing him, like your heart would break in half and one part of it would fly to Dick, wherever he might've been. Your mother said it was because, without a doubt, Dick was your soulmate.
You wanted to believe her, but you had no idea how Dick felt towards you. Other than the fact that he saw you as a good friend, you were unaware of whether he felt that same tugging sensation, if he couldn't bear to be apart from you.
Not that you would ever ask him those questions that lingered in your mind whenever you were with him.
As soon as you were within speaking distance of him, he said your name with that familiar grin of his that seemed to melt your heart every time. "You.. you look..." he trailed off slowly, causing your body to stiffen as you felt his eyes scan your body, catching on the intricacies of the dark blue dress you wore.
Cheeks flushing, you picked at the long, sheer sleeves of your dress. "I look...?"
"Beautiful," Dick breathed out, his gaze finally landing back on yours, before he let out a light laugh as well. "I mean, you always look beautiful. You probably know that."
"Thank you." A smile spread across your cheeks at the compliment, your chest feeling warm while your stomach felt fluttery. You nodded to his own attire, a black suit with brown accents, offering him a compliment as well, "You clean up nicely, Dick."
He rolled his eyes at you playfully as he began to mess with his tie again, loosening it around his neck. "I've been to these things a dozen times and I don't think I'll ever get used to it."
Your gaze softened at his words, thankful that he trusted you enough to confide in you, though you also felt for him. You didn't mind these events until you grew older. It all seemed like a performance, and it wasn't the type of performance Dick liked, he had told you that much.
When he held his elbow out, you instinctively accepted it, your gloved hand holding onto the crook of his elbow as he began to lead you to the large room that held the buffet. The action made your heart race, but you had to firmly remind yourself that he was simply just being a gentleman to his best friend.
"At least the food's always good," you pointed out, wanting to lighten the mood as you smiled at him, to which he grinned back in return.
"Yeah, but it's still not as good as Alfie's cooking," he replied with a laugh, to which you found yourself agreeing.
Your mother hadn't been cooking as often, so much so that your father had hired a chef. So, that meant, you took to eating food at the Wayne household most nights, getting to savor all of Alfred's dishes.
"I'm sure it's far better for the adults," you couldn't help but point out, catching sight of your mom from across the room, in the middle of downing a glass of wine. You tried to keep the hint of sadness from your voice. "At least they can drink the night away."
He followed your gaze to your mom, and you made a show of quickly looking away from her as the two of you walked through the crowd. Whatever Dick was thinking in that moment, you didn't know, because you didn't want to look at his face, but you could feel the forming muscles of his arm tensing up beneath your hand.
While it went unmentioned, it was no secret to the people in your inner circle that your mother had become an alcoholic out of nowhere. You could only hope it stayed unmentioned.
"Whoa, check it out!" Dick suddenly exclaimed, knocking you out of your thoughts, and you followed his pointed finger over to a table with an array of desserts. He was pointing directly at a large chocolate fountain. "Oh, man, I'm so going to eat my body weight in chocolate."
His joke brought a smile to your lips, your worries seeming to wash away with ease within his presence. You laughed as he began to tug you over to the chocolate fountain, eagerly grabbing plates. He stashed fruits and marshmallows onto his, and you followed in suit, drizzling a mountain of chocolate onto your plates.
"You think B would let us get a chocolate fountain?" he asked you with a cheeky look on his face, before plopping a piece of fruit into his mouth, chewing on the strawberry.
The sheer thought of wheeling in a chocolate fountain into Wayne Manor had you giggling around the chocolatey marshmallow in your mouth. The sound of your muffled laughter seemed to amuse him, because suddenly Dick was laughing as well.
An hour had gone by, and when it became too stuffy within the confines of the venue, and you had spoken to too many old people, you and Dick found yourselves outside on a quiet balcony. You sat on the railing, your legs dangling over it, and Dick stood beside you, a hand resting near your leg on the railing.
The moment was quiet, peaceful. Until it wasn't. Until you began to think too hard about certain things, and your heart clenched painfully in your chest.
"Have you ever felt it?" you whispered your question aloud, unable to keep it down inside your throat. "The tug?"
You weren't looking at him. You kept your head up, eyes tracing the few stars in the sky (Gotham's smog covered up most of them), occasionally glancing down at the flowery garden below the balcony. However, you could feel his gaze against the side of your face. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking in that moment.
"The.. tug?" he answered, repeating your own words slowly, like he was reading it from a textbook. He sounded genuinely confused, and it made your heart clench in your chest.
Surely, if he had felt the unmistakable grip on his heart when he was around you, he would've known what you meant. So it could only mean he hadn't, and for years you've just been kidding yourself. Soulmates aren't real, and you're seeing it much more clearly now.
Clearing your throat, you kept your eyes on the sky, ignoring the misty feeling in your eyes. "No, never mind. I was just.. rambling."
Your attempt at ignoring the watery sting in your eyes didn't hold up, seeing as Dick immediately noticed it. "Whoa, whoa," he breathed out almost tentatively, like he was talking to a wounded animal, but he was jarringly good at it as he whispered your name. "Are you okay? Did I.. do something?"
Opening your mouth to say something, your mind and voice failed you, so you simply let out a shaky exhale as you hung your head, embarrassed as you wiped at your eyes quickly.
He said your name again, in that stupid and soft tone of his that always made your heart melt. When you still didn't say anything or look at him, you felt the warmth of his hand against your arm, before he slowly tugged you off the railing and to your feet, turning you around to face him (giving you enough time to pull away in case you didn't want this, but how could you ever pull away from his touch?) and then drew you in for a hug. "Please don't cry. I don't know what to do." You've never heard him sound so helpless before.
With a breathless and shaky laugh, you melted into his embrace, your heart pounding in your chest as she pressed your face into his shoulder.
Hugging and touching Dick wasn't all that rare of an occurrence, seeing as he was simply touchy by nature, and you always welcomed his hugs and the way he'd throw his arm around your shoulder during movie nights at his home theater. It seemed to come naturally for him, and you loved it all the same.
His touch never failed to calm you down, and that streak wouldn't be broken tonight. You had already forgotten what made you so upset in the first place.
The sound of the balcony doors opening caused you to quickly flinch away from Dick on instinct (though you tried not to pay attention to the way his hands stayed on your arms) and blinked when your eyes landed on another pair of blue eyes.
"Mister Wayne," you blurted out quickly, your voice breathless for reasons you hoped the last surviving Wayne wouldn't pick up on. "We weren't doing anything." It was then you noticed a woman hanging off of Bruce's arm, a beautiful one with dark hair that shimmered, and green eyes that seemed to hide a thousand secrets. She looked vaguely familiar, but you quickly looked back to Bruce, before you could lose yourself in the trance that came with the woman's striking beauty.
Bruce let out a deep chuckle while Dick let go of you and made a choked noise, before coughing into his fist. "I didn't say you were," Bruce replied, but you caught the almost knowing look in his eyes, before he looked at Dick and shared a look that you were unable to decipher. "We have something to talk about."
And as soon as you blinked, Dick straightened up, almost like a soldier readying for battle, nodding firmly at his adoptive father. You watched dumbly as Dick gave you an apologetic look before following Bruce who walked back into the ballroom.
You hadn't even realized you looked particularly disappointed, with a slight pout in your lips and a slump to your shoulders, before the woman who had been with Bruce pointed it out. "So they're both like that, huh?" the woman hummed, catching you from your daze.
She walked over to stand beside you, leaning her bare arms against the railing of the balcony, looking up at the night sky like you had been doing moments ago.
Bruce Wayne tended to go through a lot of women, most of whom all appeared to look like they could be a model, but there was something different about her, not that you could put your finger on what made her so different. She intimidated you greatly, but you realized you had been gawking at her silently for too long, so you pursed your lips and followed her gaze.
"Like what?"
"They both ditch pretty girls at events like these for vague reasons," she replied, looking over at you, causing you to meet that piercing green gaze of hers. She smiled at you, the action almost lazy. You flushed underneath her eyes.
"Dick didn't ditch me," you said almost awkwardly in his defense, shifting your weight on your feet, the black flats you'd been wearing finally starting to agitate your skin. "There was nothing to ditch. It's not like that with us. We're best friends, you know?"
She stared at you for a moment, a hint of amusement in her gaze, and you somehow managed to hold her gaze even though you secretly wanted to melt into the ground. "Selina Kyle," she, Selina, finally introduced herself. "A friend of Mister Wayne's."
You couldn't help the laugh that slipped from your lips at the teasing tone she used. It seemed to relax you a bit, being able to put a name to her face, so you gave her your name with a small smile.
"Best friends, hm?" Selina continued, finally averting her gaze from yours.
Sucking in a breath, you nodded, leaning against the railing as well.
"Maybe you should tell him that."
"What?" you questioned quietly, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as you glanced at her.
Selina simply smiled.
TWO YEARS WENT BY, AND EVERY TIME YOU WERE AROUND HIM, YOU STILL FELT THAT TUG. It had been six years since you met him, first felt the tug, and you were still unsure if he felt that tug when he was around you, too.
It was the summer in between your sophomore and junior year of high school. Dick, fortunately, attended the same high school as you, so you weren't worrying about school at the moment. Your freshman year and sophomore year had been about as good as you could have asked with Dick by your side, and you were positive your junior year would be the same.
Right now, instead of school, you were worried about the boy in front of you, who had broken into your room in the middle of the night.
It wasn't the sound of him entering your room that had woken you up, no, he was as silent as an owl in the dead of night. Instead, it had been the sudden tug and jolting of your heart that had you gasping and almost flopping out of bed.
Mind screaming at you to act, your eyes fell on the figure standing in the middle of your bedroom, soaking wet, his form highlighted by the clash of lightning, thunder quickly following.
You'd heard about him all over the newspapers most mornings. Your dad claimed the Dynamic Duo was just a myth, something to scare criminals from committing their nightly crimes, but you weren't so sure. Now, when the younger part of the duo was standing in your bedroom, his cape wet and dripping onto your carpet from the ongoing rain with blood dripping from his injured side, you were positive they weren't just myths.
The only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat, beating rhythmically in time with the rain pelting your window. You stared at him with wide, but tired eyes, having been woken up during your deep sleep.
He was shaking, cold from being out in the rain. Your eyes caught on his green-gloved hand clutching at the side of his red suit, where a darker red had set, dripping down his bare leg. Neither of you said anything at first.
But then, in a quiet and strained voice laced with pain, he said your name, and immediately you knew who it was.
"Oh, Dick," you breathed out, stumbling towards him without hesitation, carefully taking his shoulders into your hands to lead him to the edge of your bed.
You didn't have the time to be shocked about this sudden revelation, that Dick Grayson was the Boy Wonder that your father always complained about, because right now he was just the boy you had grown to love, and he was currently bleeding out on your bed.
Dashing out of your room, hurriedly grabbing every medical supply you could get your hands on (almost tripping on the way out, which thankfully your parents' bedroom was way down the hall, and your father was asleep downstairs on the couch, so neither of them would hear) and ran back into your room.
The pill bottles rattled as you plopped everything in your arms onto your bed, slowly beginning to panic when you finally realized you had no idea what you were doing.
"Oh, God," you heaved out as quietly as you could as you took in Dick who was weakly tugging the green mask around his eyes off, along with the shivering in his body. "I—What am I supposed to do? I don't know.. I don't know what to do.. Oh, God. I'm sorry!"
He then said your name again, in that same weak tone, and it made you freeze where you stood in front of him. Your heart melted when he gave you his signature toothy grin. "Shhh, alright? It's okay. I'm going to be okay," Dick mumbled out, his voice hoarse and strained from the pain he was currently enduring.
He was comforting you even though he was the one bleeding out. Huh.
You watched with awe and amazement as he began to patch himself up after asking you to turn on your bedside lamp. Dick took out a needle and thread, biting his tongue while stitching up the wound on his side. It made your heart hurt, seeing the boy you cared so deeply about in so much pain.
As you sat there beside him, your hand helplessly squeezing his shoulder in an attempt at comforting him while he cleaned himself up, you let yourself wrap your mind around this new information.
It made sense, the more you thought about it. The cuts and bruises he always brushed off while in your company, his poor attendance at school, and the way he would seemingly disappear every time you stayed the night at Wayne Manor.
It didn't take you long to connect the dots as to who Batman was. That, too, made sense, once you really thought about it. You were one of the few who saw past the Playboy billionaire act Bruce always threw up, even seeing some of the real him from time to time when you were with Dick at the manor.
When Dick finally finished, he lay back against your bed, his tired eyes staring at the ceiling of your room. You quickly put the supplies away, before you lay down beside him, your eyes resting on his face.
"Told you I was gonna be okay," Dick spoke quietly, but his tone was filled with that usual humor, causing you to relax a bit as you smiled softly at him. He then sighed out, long and slow. "Bruce is gonna kill me."
The mention of his dad made you purse your lips, your hand slowly moving across the blanket before you could stop yourself, lightly grasping his hand. It warmed your heart when he visibly relaxed beneath your touch. "Yeah, Bruce..." His thumb brushed against your knuckles. "Why aren't you with him?"
Dick's expression soured, a rare look on his perfect features. "Didn't wanna see him anymore. We got into a fight."
"Oh," you mumbled empathetically, glancing around your room, unsure what else to say.
"Can I stay with you?" His voice was quiet, his eyes on the side of your face. "Just for tonight."
How could you ever deny Dick Grayson, especially when he was looking at you with those sleepy, blue eyes? Especially after he confided in you in such a vulnerable state, especially when he's injured.
You told him he had to be out of the house before your parents woke up (your mom was lenient, but even she wouldn't be happy to see a boy in your bed.. and your father would no doubt pull a gun on Dick) which he agreed to.
Fortunately, he had pajamas still at your house from the many sleepovers that had been had, so he was no longer a sopping mess on your bed. His hand was warm in yours as you lay beside him once more, the room dark save for the occasional clash of lightning.
He whispered stories to you in the dark that night, telling of his many adventures as Robin, like he had been holding it all down every time he had been with you prior. You find out a lot, about the Teen Titans, his hero friends he now wanted you to meet as soon as possible, about all the super-villains he's gone up against at such a young age.
The sound of his quiet voice paired with the warmth of his hand, lulled you into a peaceful slumber. You slept better than you thought was possible.
Dick watched the way you slowly fell asleep, the rise and fall of your chest beneath the blanket he shared with you, the way your eyelashes settled over your cheeks, the relaxed expression of your face.
The knowledge that he was able to bring you enough comfort and relaxation to fall asleep like that without a care in the world made his heart thump in his chest.
He smiled to himself as he raised his free hand (with a wince, because unfortunately he was still human and felt immense pain, even though he and Bruce sometimes pretended otherwise) and brushed your hair behind your ear. He wanted to do something more, like maybe kiss your cheek or forehead (one of the many ideas Gar and Wally West implemented in his head) but he chose not to.
While he fell asleep as well, he focused on the familiar sensation in his heart, the feeling akin to fireworks exploding like he remembered during his time with the circus, the same feeling he felt every time he was around you.
You expected him to be gone when you woke up that next morning, because he was supposed to be, but as your eyes fluttered open, you were met with his sleeping face.
It caused you to sigh, because it was a much better sight than the pained look on his face last night.
Birds chirped outside your window, no doubt feasting on the worms that popped out of the ground after all of the rain from last night. It created for a peaceful atmosphere, so long as you ignored the bloodied and soaked Robin suit hiding beneath your bed.
"What am I going to do with you?" you hummed to yourself with a smile as you looked down at his sleepy face. You then sighed, twisting to stare at the ceiling instead. "Nothing, is what I'm going to do with you."
It was far easier to say your thoughts and feelings about the boy when he was asleep and unaware of what you were saying. This isn't your first time doing it.
"Because I'm scared, and a coward, and I'd much rather stew in my feelings for all of eternity before potentially ruining our friendship." Dick certainly didn't answer you, but a tweet from a bird outside made you continue, "What would I even say? 'Hey, Dick, I know the practice is going out of style, but I think you're my soulmate, just because I feel a tugging in my chest when I’m around you.'"
"I think that about sums it up."
You froze where you laid. Gotham harbored all kinds of creepies and crawlies, but you were certain the birds that lived in Gotham couldn't speak. You wished they could, because that left the only other option.
Heart dropping into your stomach, you sat up, looking down at Dick beside you, who was currently rubbing his sleepy eyes. Normally the sight of his sleepy demeanor and messy curls would’ve made you melt, but you were too busy feeling sick. "Dick," you mumbled breathlessly. "Ignore that. I don't know what I was saying. I'm sorry. Forget what I just said—"
"Why are you apologizing?" he huffed out weakly with a wince as he pulled himself into a sitting position next to you. "You do that a lot. Apologize for something that doesn't need a sorry."
His words brought you little to no comfort, because all you really wanted to do was jump out of your bed and throw yourself out the nearby window. You felt that familiar sting of tears accumulating in your eyes, and suddenly it was like you were back on that balcony with him a year ago, trying to test the waters to see if there was even a chance of him returning your feelings.
Before you could burst into tears, or maybe spiral even further, he continued, his voice quiet but firm, “I remember that night. You asked me if I had ever felt it. The tug.” You nodded slowly, composing yourself. “I was confused because, well, I haven’t.”
Any attempt at composing yourself was now currently being thrown out the window, because you couldn’t bear to look at him, not while he was openly rejecting you. You knew it, knew that he had no obligation to reciprocate your feelings, that he had only ever been just your friend. Now, at least you had the opportunity to move on instead of wasting your time on this.
Eventually, you’d be able to accept that he simply didn’t feel the same way, but right now you’d allow yourself to feel the negative emotions that came with it. So, you let yourself cry.
But as soon as the wet tears dripped down your cheeks, you felt a hand grasp your jaw lightly, forcing you to turn your head to look at him. Your eyes were slightly blurred from your tears, and the pained look on his face twisted your heart even more. You thought at first he was hurting because of the wound at his side, but you would soon realize it wasn’t that.
“You didn’t let me finish,” Dick whispered, a small smile curling on his lips. “My heart doesn’t tug when I’m around you. No, it.. gosh, it feels like a firework goes off in my chest when I’m around you. My palms get all sweaty, I’m never able to think straight on patrols knowing you’re sleeping over at my house. Bruce gets mad at me for that part. Alfie tells me I need to tell you.”
It’s like you can’t breathe as you slowly absorb his words, his hand against your jaw, which was now sliding up to rest on your cheek. His thumb brushed away a fallen tear, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, letting it ground you in the moment.
“Which, he can finally get off my back about, because I’m telling you now,” he laughed out lightly, causing you to do the same, albeit more shakily. “I’m sorry I let you think otherwise.. that what I feel for you doesn’t go beyond friendship. I thought I had made it obvious.” He inhaled slowly. “I know we’re still young, and maybe I don’t even know what it means yet, but I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for you. I… I love you.”
Your body is moving before your own mind can process it. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his, the action clumsy but as sweet as you can muster. And as soon as you feel him press his against yours more firmly, before attempting to move against your lips, your heart explodes like a firework.
The inexperience between the two of you is obvious, but you don’t care about that, not when the kiss is so sweet and makes your cheeks burn with fluster. His free hand is on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious, and his other hand rests steadily on your jaw, like you’re something meant to be cherished.
The kiss eventually ends when the two of you need to come up for air, and you’re mindful of his injuries from the night before, so you keep your hands on his shoulders.
He’s smiling widely, the action coming with a dorkish charm that you love so much. You smile as well with a laugh before the sound becomes muffled when he kisses you again.
“YOU KNOW I’D GO ALONG WITH WHATEVER YOU WANT, BECAUSE YOU’RE USUALLY THE VOICE OF REASON, BUT ARE YOU POSITIVE?” His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his eyebrow raised as he gives you the most serious expression he could muster when it came to the love of his life.
You sat on the plush couch of your shared apartment, a pitbull lying her head in your lap as you thrusted your phone screen at the man standing in front of you. “Yes, I’m positive. Look at him.. all lonely at the shelter.. he’s practically crying out to us, Dick. How can you say no to this face?”
The man standing in front of you, Dick Grayson, let out a huff of laughter as he moved to sit beside you on the worn-in but well-loved couch, his hand moving to rest on your knee out of instinct.
“I need a lovable companion while you’re away at night,” you continued, beginning to flutter your eyelashes at him, the same thing you do every time you’re trying to get your way with him.
“I thought that’s what Haley was for.” On cue, the dog raises her head from your lap, tilting her head to the side as if listening in on the conversation.
Humming, you shook your head, turning your attention to your phone screen and zooming in on the image of the snow white cat. “Haley does help, of course, but a cat would help even more.”
Dick purses his lips, and you know he’s unable to deny you anything.
Before he gives an answer, you smile at him and stand, tucking your phone away. “How about you think about it? We’re going to be late for dinner soon.”
“Ah, there’s the voice of reason,” he answered, smiling with another laugh as he stood from the couch, following you to the door.
He helped you slip on your coat, buttoning up for you in that domestic way he always did during the winters in New Jersey.
Heading out of Blüdhaven, the thirty-minute drive goes by like a breeze knowing you take the same drive every Friday night.
Dick pulls the car up into the long driveway of your childhood home, the two of you stepping out as soon as he parks. You don’t bother knocking on the front door, knowing your mother is already expecting you, as she has every other Friday night for the past half a decade. You’ve made sure to visit your mother frequently ever since your father passed.
Shrugging off your coats, you and Dick make your way into the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly homemade food is waiting.
Your mom turns, her wrinkled face twisting into a wide grin at the sight of you and Dick, wasting no time pulling you both into separate hugs. “Oh, you’re just in time. The lasagna just came out of the oven.”
The three of you make your way into the dining room instinctively as your mother sets the dish in the middle of the long table. You sit at the far end, across from Dick and beside your mother.
“So,” she started, grinning as she looked between the two of you, like this was the most interesting part of her week. “What’s new with you two?”
“Your daughter is trying to convince me to adopt a cat with her,” Dick replied, shaking his head, feigning annoyance as he scooped some lasagna onto his plate.
Your mother tutted, causing you to laugh lightly. “Happy wife, happy life, Dick. Don’t forget that.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he said, reaching across the table to lightly grip your free hand, grinning as his finger brushed over the ring resting on your finger.