Chapter Text
With the rent you can’t afford, taxes being put in almost every transaction, awful inflation rates, and the wage at your job that isn’t even all worth the stress (you just quit), it’s no wonder you took the offer of catsitting for an old friend.
In Blüdhaven, of all the places in New Jersey. You heard word about how Gotham was relatively mild compared to this small city.
I’ll be gone for a few weeks, Luca needs a friend, your friend, Lana said. You also need a break, she said. Consider this a vacation. You’re free to use my apartment, I also left groceries for you.
Vacation wasn’t the right word for it, but you didn’t say anything. You needed the money, you knew. Every gut in your body is saying that even if you were so desperate and you’re at rock bottom—being in Blüdhaven is like walking into the gates of hell. You then thought that maybe it’s all an exaggeration. But the dozen sirens of the ambulance and police car every night, the overwhelming barks of the dogs outside the apartment building and your friend’s neighbors, made you rethink your decision. You began to appreciate the good things in Metropolis then (at least in there, you had Superman to save the day, the only thing you didn’t have was a job).
It was dark outside. Literally dark. Lights from nearby buildings were off except for a few office buildings, and a convenience store at a corner. The street lights were flickering, and you knew better than to glimpse at what might be going on outside every time you heard a commotion. The first time you did that was a lesson learned: curiosity kills the cat (hopefully, not the one you’re taking care of). When you heard shooting and shouting and cursing, you slid the curtain open only to see someone’s brains laid out in the streets. The newspapers the next day said it was an in-fighting between a criminal group. Once, when you went outside to grab a burger (yes, you could’ve ordered through a delivery app, but everything about the city was making you anxious and you thought delivery guys were secretly thieves and killers), you got mugged, taking what cash you carried and even the burgers. The thought about it pissed you off so much. Not only did you not have a burger, there was something about the loss of pride in being mugged in broad daylight.
Now, not only do you have practically nothing in cash, but your bank account is only in two digits.
Should I ask Lana for an advance? You thought, scratching your head as you scrolled on your laptop, looking at every site offering a job opening. There were a lot of opportunities for you, since you’ve finished your bachelor’s and master’s degree in flying colors, but after your experience with your previous job, you’ve decided to be picky. Before submitting your resume and CV, you had to dig deep in Reddit about other employees’ experience in the company. Every failure and every bad job was a learning experience—that’s how you put it nicely.
You sighed, feeling the eye strain that reached the back of your head. The apartment smelled of nothing, except for the occasional stench of cat shit whenever the cat had filled the litter box. It wasn’t as bad as dog shit, in your experience of having owned a dog before, but it had you thank yourself for never having a cat. Luca is a generally nice cat. It only calls when it’s hungry, and scratches you whenever she thinks it’s her meal time when she had a regular schedule. She slapped you once with hard claws when you tried to kiss her, when you thought she was cute. When you slept at the couch once she bit your feet so hard you woke up panicking, thinking there was some intruder.
But she’s silent, sometimes when she wants, comes to your lap to make biscuits. You found it cute, but annoying when you begin to pet her head only for her to slap your hand away.
It’s been two weeks since you’ve been catsitting, and you could count on your fingers just how many times you went out. You take Luca out for a walk, as your friend advised, but not every day.
As your friend advised, others wouldn’t know your routine and make up plans in their head.
So you don’t plan when you will take the cat for a walk.
But then it gave birth. So you haven’t been going outside exactly. You kept an eye on the cat and its three kittens, each one a color of black and orange and white.
Luca’s a calico. You shake your head at the thought of her . When you closed your laptop and planned to head to bed, the cat jumped on your lap and meowed a few times before making biscuits. You can feel her sharp claws that felt like gentle pricks of needles on your skin, but didn’t mind.
“Thought you were just fat, Luca.” You begin to caress her chin with your fingers, which makes her purr, and the vibrations against your skin and its sound makes you smile. “Where’s your babies, huh? This city is dangerous, you should keep them inside at all times.”
While petting her, your phone vibrated, a text arriving in the middle of the night. When you opened it, you didn’t know whether to address the spark of relief in your chest or the punch of jealousy on your stomach. Lana sent you a photo of her on a yacht, with a very sexy tan line and with a very sexy man.
Jealous, you typed, fuck you. Hope you drown.
Your friend sent you a laughing emoji and replied: Don’t let the city get to you sweet girl. Nightwing always comes to save the day anyway. By the time you get home to Metropolis, anyone will hire you if you mentioned you worked for a while in Blüdhaven.
Your brows furrow at that. Wdym? You sent.
She then sent a voice message “ Talk later, love! We’re going for a swim. It just means that you’re tough and you’re a survivor! Mwah!”
A bark of laughter bursts from your mouth, echoing throughout the entire apartment. Luca jumped off your lap and went to the warmly lit corner with her kittens. You set up a nice box for them, with a few ragged old clothes to let them be comfortable (you hope it did).
I’m sick of my life. Before you wallow in self-pity and buy yourself a cheap liquor outside, neverminding the thought of whatever may happen to you, a thought crosses your mind. Nightwing?
You heard of him. Apparently the sexiest vigilante. You wished Metropolis had that. You asked your friend once about him when she brought him up.
Good heart with a great ass, was all she said. She spotted him once outside her apartment before fading into the shadows. It was impossible to catch a sight of him in this part of the neighborhood. The street lights are always broken, and a fire ravaged the entire building in front of the apartment’s balcony. Your friend said a hostage situation occurred there, and with a few encounters here and there the perpetrator triggered something and everything was on fire.
Everything’s on fire in this city. Metropolis was fairly good but it was the aliens’ favorite hangout spot on earth, Gotham was… Gotham. But Blüdhaven? I guess I’ll find out more, you thought to yourself.
You’ve made up your mind to just sleep. The apartment today was surprisingly cozy. The lights outside that shone through the curtains were still flickering, but sometimes they didn't light up for a few minutes, sometimes even an hour. And the only light inside was the small, warm light that kept the kittens warm. The apartment had no guest room, so you settled with your friend’s queen sized bed—but you weren’t a fan of her lavender fabric conditioner so lately you just found yourself content with the couch. Even if the material had more scratch marks than velvet.
It was relaxing. It was a nice night like all the others. Then something creaked outside the balcony. The street lights had stopped completely. You couldn’t discern a shadow on the curtains. Luca’s attentive, her eyes on the closed window as she remained on the box, ears pointed and tail standing still. Her pupils dilated and that was enough for your relaxation to be blown away. You moved carefully then, trying to form a calculated thought in your head while pushing away the very visible images in your mind that could possibly happen. You thought of yourself, shot and dead, stabbed and dead, strangled and dead. Whatever the method, all you could think was you ending up dead. Then the image of the man’s brains spattered outside flashed in your head and suddenly all the food you ate wanted to get out of your system.
Then your gaze drifted from the still curtains that covered the way to the closed balcony to Luca and her kittens. Suddenly you were moving quietly, snatching a knife from the kitchen.
“Huh? No. I’m here.”
A man. A voice like a sweet wine smoothly going down one’s throat. Then a chuckle that was so pleasing it could make teenage girls giggle but didn’t make the tension in your stomach go away.
“Yeah. It’s done. Just send them over. Copy.”
A creak again. Careful moves, but it didn’t seem sloppy. Like he’s used to it. Is he on the stairs for fire escape? You thought. You removed your indoor slippers, approaching the way to the balcony. It was pitch dark then, save for the light in the corner. It was a small light that you’re sure wouldn't be seen. You made sure of what while planning how to make the apartment seem empty from outside.
As you treaded closer, you could hear the man’s voice more clearly. He’s talking to someone. But the steps belonged to one person only, you’re certain. The creaks were light enough, it didn't seem like it was taking much weight.
“All good, don’t you worry. This apartment’s empty. Saw the owner get outta building with a large bag. Yeah, yeah. ”
The creak grew closer. And it was all black. Nothing else. Your hand went to the curtain, along with the handle that can slide smoothly it’ll reveal who’s on the other side. You heard one last chuckle.
He’s in front of you. On the balcony. Looking through the closed balcony door. There’s no mistaking it.
“Uhuh, just a cat. No prob—“
The street lights magically turned on. The curtain and the balcony window slid open. It wasn’t dark anymore, and the knife fell.
A mask, a glint of surprise in a man’s unrecognizable eyes, you could see your reflection in them—sweaty, nervous, and looking breathless.
He had dark hair, a large, muscular, overwhelmingly broad body that made you rethink your decision to open the window. Can I take him down—wait— realization had sunk. You began to breathe again. Heavy and desperate, like you haven’t breathed before.
It took you a moment to realize he had caught your wrist in his gloved hand. Too light to be leather, you couldn’t discern what it was made of. His hold was tight. Cautious and unforgiving and effortless. The bright light—the brightest those street lights had ever done, lit up your face.
His move to catch your wrist was faster than his realization that there’s someone else in front of him, it seemed. You were already catching your breath when he frowned, the lines on his forehead that you can count clashing together, his brows furrowing and his face leaning closer. His other hand rested on the windowsill.
You opened your mouth to protest, but then his voice—thick, low, and daring.
“Who are you?”
With a voice so deep and angry, surging out of your chest, it was almost a scream; you tried to yank away your wrist from him, a futile effort, and let out, “Me? Who are you?!”
You saw his jaw clenching. “You’re not from around here,”
Fear mixed with frustration, you almost scream again, “Excuse me? Can you let go? What are you planning, huh? You masked—“
You stopped protesting then. You saw his dark hair, sweaty forehead, his build, the color of what he’s wearing but couldn’t completely distinguish it because the light was against his back, then you remembered what your friend said about the vigilante in Blüdhaven—your eyes then drifted down, trying to get a glimpse of his ass.
You tried not to gasp then, unable to move and yank your wrist back. “You’re—oh my God.”
The street lights went out again. But you weren’t feeling so unsafe anymore. The surprise made you feel like you’ll melt any minute.
When the lights were on again, taking a while to flicker, his hand was somewhere else. Nightwing’s other hand still remained on your wrist. Almost gentle now, like feathers. Like he was holding a glass.
He was holding your chin, gently as he held your wrist, he tilted your head up, towards his eyes. Those dilated pupils, eyes so dark and deep with a hue you haven’t seen before, you could drown in them. It was a shame you couldn’t see what color they were. A smirk was itching to emerge on the side of his thin, pink lips and you realized he saw what you were staring at just a few moments earlier.
“Eyes up here, gorgeous,” A tender command, a soft whisper. It held all the meaning that it could.
Then, everything went dark. And when the street lights were on again, he was gone.
The elevator told you just how old the apartment building is. The cream paint is a few months’ away from turning completely brown, a few random spots inside had convinced you a fight broke out there–a violent one. It seemed like bullet shots, though you haven’t seen one before. When it goes up, the creaking metal sounds make you think it’ll suddenly give up and the lights will shut down and have you trapped forever. The doors had begun to rust, and the buttons no longer lit up save for a few, and the numbers were no longer readable thus the poor attempt for the staff to write the floor numbers with a blue marker.
It was a rare morning when you head out to buy cat food and stop by the grocery to grab a few things: water, canned and frozen food, and some fruits to make up for all the preservatives you’ll consume for the rest of the week. Now you’re already out of cash, and you emptied your bank account with what remains of it. You even thought the woman behind you at the ATM snorted when she took a glimpse as you checked your savings. A man who just got to the gym took the elevator with you, not giving a single care that you’re carrying half a sack of cat food with both your hands, your grocery bag slumped on the floor.
You struggled to take a step to press your floor number. Just as you took the grocery bag with your hands so the content of it wouldn’t slip out, a voice called out. He just entered the building, you thought, given that the bell of the doors just rang.
“Hold on!” You hadn’t noticed that the doors were closing off, so instead of pressing on your floor number, you pressed the hold button. A relief bloomed in your chest then, it’s difficult to discern what’s the hold and close button with how the symbols had begun to fade out.
A broad, tall guy entered then. He wore gym shorts and a tight white shirt that made you look away. He’s carrying nothing but a water tumbler. He removed one of his earbuds, and shoved his phone in one of his pockets. “Thanks.” He said.
You nodded as your gazes briefly met. He stood in front of you, pressing the same floor as you. You thought that he had a surprise look in his eyes when the two of you shared a short contact, but shrugged it off. The strangeness of the possibility of it you discarded as soon as it popped in your mind.
That’s just silly. As the elevator went up, you glanced at his shoulders. Good physique, you noticed. The muscles were sticking out quite nicely. He must go to the gym everyday. His clothing hugged his figure, his waist and hips almost making you envious of his dedication to keep going to the gym to maintain the state of his body. Sweat still roamed down the back of his neck, the warm lights of the elevator making his tan skin seem like honey under the sun.
Your mind drifts to the vigilante the night before, and you immediately shrug off the thought. It’s nothing. Just another typical night here in Blüdhaven . You forgot to tell Lana, though you figure it’s not worth telling any friends about. What’s so special about encountering a crime-fighting vigilante anyway? It’s not as much of a big deal seeing first hand Superman taking out another enemy that bothered Metropolis.
Your eyes drifted down as you reached the 3rd floor, the other guy before him’s floor, the elevator barely making a sound. Even with his dark gym shorts, you can visibly make out how great his ass is. Just what is his routine for that?
There it was again. The image of the vigilante the night before. The way he frowned–not in a way that made you intimidated. The curiosity behind those dark eyes, like you’re someone who randomly popped out of a bush in the middle of a hunt. The sweaty and wavy hair. And the ass. You remember Lana’s words again. Good heart with a great ass.
The elevator light dinged again. Finally, you’re on your floor. The man stepped out first, and before the old elevator’s annoying doors closed, you quickly gripped the grocery bags. You struggled to keep the half-sack of cat food in your arms. The well-built man towered over you as you began to step out, keeping the elevator doors from closing down with a lean of his hand on the frame. You caught the sight of his arms then. Damp with sweat and unbelievably and beautifully tan.
“Do you need a hand, Miss?” He asked with a low voice. You had the chance to stare at his eyes then. Blue. You couldn’t compare it to the skies or the seas. You’d think it was a rare hue.
“Yes please, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll have the cat food then.” He still had his hand on the doors, keeping it where it should be. He effortlessly and gently grabbed the cat food off your arms. You felt that how it strained your arms you felt the muscles twitch.
“Thank you. I’m just in 403. I really appreciate it.” The elevator doors closed and you began to lead him towards the apartment, you slowed down so you two could walk together.
“I’m in 404. I didn’t know Miss Lana moved out.” He made the cat food seem like nothing. He held it with one arm. You had to look up to meet his eyes. Good God he’s tall, you thought. And just great. He lives right next to the apartment.
Like Nightwing. You shrugged the thought of your head. It’s just a silly thought. Even though their voices are similar. Even though they’re the same build.
“She’s just out on vacation. I’m catsitting.” You told him, looking away before you could finally put pieces together. You smell trouble from miles away and you’d do anything to keep it that way.
“I see. You’re a new face in the building so I thought you’re a new resident.”
“No, I’m from Metropolis.”
“Far from home, huh?” He chuckled. The same chuckle from last night. Your heart started to drum frantically. This is just so silly.
“Yeah. Nothing much for me in there at the moment.” You instantly regret the words coming out of your mouth. Why are you telling him this?
Finally you reach the door of Lana’s apartment. You fumble for your keys in your bag, you felt him waiting beside you. “Luca’s out of cat food?” Before you could ask how he knew the cat, he continued, "Miss Lana and I talk sometimes. Luca also sometimes randomly appears in my apartment. Through the balconies, I suppose."
Good explanation, I suppose. “Yeah. And she just gave birth.”
“Woah, seriously?” His eyes widened with a trickle of fondness. A grin was tugging on his pink lips. For some reason, you began to smile.
“Yeah. Three kittens.”
“Wow. How are they?” Finally, you found the keys and opened the door. Luca was waiting, meowing loudly as soon as she saw you.
“Tiny. Healthy, thank God.” When the man moved, the cat food moved with him, the sound of it stealing Luca’s attention from you.
“You hungry, kitty?” He finally smiled. His voice went a few pitches down, like he’s talking to a child. Seeing his side profile, you notice a scar. It wasn’t so distinct but you knew they were deep. Perhaps it was a cut. Or a graze from a bullet.
You put the groceries inside, without stepping in yourself. You gestured for the cat food in his arms. “Thank you for the help.”
“You’re welcome, Miss…” He handed the item, his eyes squinting. He’s closer now, so you notice another deep scar that healed under his right eye. You told him your name, and gave a friendly smile.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Richard Grayson, but everyone calls me Dick.”
You repeated the name in your head. “Pleasure to meet you too.” You stepped inside the apartment, and he remained outside, hands in his pockets, making faces at Luca who seemed interested in Dick.
“I’d ask if you wanted to see the kittens, but I’ve got to take care of these things.” You said, referring to the grocery items and the cat food.
“Oh yeah, sure.” He nodded then, still smiling. He seemed kind, and you’d find yourself charmed by him if you weren’t piecing things together in your head, and if you didn’t find him suspicious, and if you weren’t in Blüdhaven.
“See you around. And,” He wet his lips, and turned to his apartment. “Welcome to Blüdhaven.”
Dick went away then and you closed the door. You turned to the closed off balcony, changing the curtains into a much darker color. You scoffed, still thinking of the vigilante the night before, and the helpful man next door. You shook your head, fighting the urge to grin, not because all had just become so much interesting, but because you had a feeling a lot of things headed your way are much more than they seemed to be, and it was not good.
Welcome to Blüdhaven, indeed.