Dick Grayson²

The sun was warm over Wayne Manor. Guests lounged by the pool in casual clothes—swim trunks, bikinis, light shirts—sipping drinks and laughing. Music floated through the garden, blending with chatter and splashes. Bruce had organized the party for charity, but everyone seemed more interested in enjoying the day than formalities.

Dick leaned against the pool’s edge, dark swim trunks clinging to his athletic frame, wet hair tousled, that mischievous smile on his lips. She sat beside him, legs in the water, laughing at something he said.

“Another one of your dives?” she teased, nudging his shoulder.

“Impressive… and a little humiliating for you,” he replied with a wink, his arm brushing hers.

A few guests walking by glanced openly. Several women whispered, admiring him.

“Wow… how can someone look that good without trying?” one murmured.

“Must be genetics,” another added, smirking.

Dick smiled politely, playful, then returned to her. She raised an eyebrow, pretending annoyance, but her smile betrayed amusement.

“Distracting?” she asked softly.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he murmured, entwining their fingers.

The pool buzzed around them, but for Dick and her, the world shrank to the water’s edge. They shared stories, jokes, memories, every glance and touch speaking louder than words.

When Bruce greeted guests nearby, Dick leaned closer, whispering with a smirk: “Forget the world for now. Just us.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, laughing quietly. Around them, guests splashed and chatted, but they remained in their own bubble, warm and intimate.

As the sun dipped, golden light reflected on the water. They leaned back, toes in the pool, fingers intertwined, savoring a rare moment of peace and closeness—just theirs.