The glow of the television screen illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows across the walls. As always, I was re-watching *Young Justice*. A new season had finally arrived – Season 2, after what felt like an eternity. *Finally!* It was about time.
I'd been hooked on the series since I first discovered it, captivated by the vibrant characters and intricate storylines. I especially loved Dick Grayson, the first Robin. Watching him evolve from a boy wonder to the confident Nightwing had been a constant source of inspiration. *Teen Titans* had been a childhood favorite, and even now, the thought of him always brought a smile to my face.
The show was engrossing, but a persistent tapping at the window pulled me from my reverie. I initially dismissed it as a squirrel or a windblown branch, but the tapping continued, insistent and rhythmic.
Curiosity piqued, I moved closer to the window. The sound evolved from a random tapping to something more deliberate – the distinct sound of fingers against glass. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. It wasn’t a branch or a squirrel. It was something—or someone—trying to get my attention.
Hesitantly, I approached the window, my heart thrumming against my ribs. As I peered through the glass, my breath caught in my throat. Standing on the ledge was Nightwing. Or someone dressed *as* Nightwing. Comic Con wasn’t for another three months, and even then, I'd already planned on attending.
We stared at each other, a silent standoff that stretched into an eternity. The air crackled with an unspoken energy. Finally, I blurted out, "Umm hi."
The figure didn't respond, his expression unreadable. He continued to stare, his gaze unwavering. Then, with a fluid grace that defied gravity, he pushed open the window and stepped into my apartment, landing softly on his feet.
“Hi,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Where am I?”
I stammered, “Well, Dick, you’re in…” The words caught in my throat as I realized my mistake. He knew his name. How?
“How do you know my name?” he asked, his voice sharpening with suspicion. He took a step closer, and I instinctively backed up, my spine pressed against the wall.
“W-well, I-I…” I stumbled over my words, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“I’ll ask you again,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register, reminiscent of Bruce Wayne’s Batman. “How. Do. You. Know. My. Name?”
I sighed, hanging my head. “I know your name because I’m…sort of obsessed with Batman, but more specifically you.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by an arrogant grin. “Well, miss…”
“My name is (y/n),” I supplied, my voice barely a whisper.
He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his dark lips. “Miss (y/n), I am both shocked and delighted to hear that, especially from someone as…outstanding as you.”
I smiled sheepishly, biting my lip. “But I have only one question,” I said, nodding for him to continue.
“How exactly do you know about Batman and me?”
Oh boy. This was going to be a long night.